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It had all gone horribly wrong.
They'd been tirelessly tracking the ringleader of a human trafficking ring, a mob boss that had slipped through their fingers any number of times and had even bribed his way out of custody once. Eventually they had extracted what they thought was a solid lead. Whether it was all elaborately rigged, or they were relieved that they finally had something to go on, or they were just plain tired, it no longer mattered.
It was a set up.
There were far too many thugs, even for the pair of them fighting at their full potential, back to back and battling frantically. Like the hydra, with every henchman they felled, two more sprang up in his place. It was over too quickly, they were overwhelmed and forced to the filthy ground with brutal kicks and punches, derided and spat upon and pummeled until unconsciousness took them.
[#]
Dan groans, coming around to damp concrete against his cheek. His stomach spasms painfully as he is caught by a coughing fit. He can taste blood in the back of his throat and crusted over his lips. He quickly ascertains that his hands are cuffed behind his back, and with a great deal of difficulty, manages to struggle into a sitting position. The room, wherever he is, is pitch-black; stripped of his goggles, Dan can't make anything out in the fuzzy darkness.
A scraping, clicking noise nearby, then a resonating ping as something metallic hits the floor. Low-pitched muttering.
"Rorschach?" Dan queries.
"Welcome back, Daniel. Dropped lock-pick. Can't find it, don't have another. Think we may have a problem." Rorschach sounds as rough as Dan feels.
"Hah. You think?" He pauses for a moment. "How you doing, man?"
Rorschach's breathing is loud, ragged around the edges. "Been worse. Broken nose and finger, possibly bruised rib. Saliva on face, disgusting. You?"
Dan rolls his shoulders, listening to his joints complain. He hurts, dear god he hurts, but it's a consistent ache, no blinding agony or telltale grating of bone on bone from anywhere in particular. "Nothing serious. Any idea where we are?"
He hears Rorschach shuffle towards the sound of his voice and sit next to him, a whisper of fabric against the leather of his costume. "Basement, about twelve feet by nine. Some kind of machinery on far wall. Pipework. Grimy. Could be disused boiler room. Also, old sewing machine and mannequins in corner, likely somewhere in Garment District."
Dan lets out a sharp little laugh, impressed with his partner's detective skills, as usual. Rorschach coughs, and Dan feels flecks of moisture on the side of his face. His initial revulsion dampens as he realizes the implication. "H–hey, they took my goggles and cowl. Did they...?" He leaves the question hanging in the dank space between them.
Rorschach leaves dead air as a reply.
Somewhat pointlessly, it turns out, as a single fluorescent tube flickers on and lights the room in sickly yellow, casting deep shadows into the corners. Rorschach makes a noise low in his throat, stands abruptly and stalks over to the door.
He has been stripped down to his pinstripes, suspenders (Dan can't help thinking, Suspenders? Really?) and a hopelessly creased dress shirt. Though Dan had figured his partner was a redhead from the glimpses of stubbled chin, he hadn't realized quite how vibrantly ginger he was. He grins despite himself.
"Stop staring, Nite Owl," Rorschach growls. "Get over here. Other side of door."
Dan wobbles to his feet as footfalls and low voices approach, three— no, four. He doesn't like those odds, already weakened and with their hands cuffed, it isn't going to be an easy one to win.
As it turns out, their captors aren't inclined to give them a fighting chance; no sooner has the door swung open than a length of piping smacks across Dan's left shoulder and sends him reeling. The other three fend off Rorschach's frenzied biting and kicking and shove him to the ground. An unavoidable fist to his temple, and Dan is out cold for the second time that night.
[#]
He obviously hasn't been out for long; two of the henchmen are still here. He's been dragged to the back of the room and his arms are strung up at head height, cuffed to the pipework. Rorschach lies on the floor, face down and panting as a hulking thug pins him. Still groggy and concussed, Dan tunes into the conversation at hand.
"...boss said don't touch the Jew though," the smaller punk is saying. "Twilight Lady is payin' big bucks for his ass and we gotta deliver. Ain't no good if you bust him up."
"Eh, gotcha." The other man is heavy-set, thick-necked and arms like tree trunks, inked with crude tattoos. With tedious predictability, Dan nicknames him Tiny. "Don't need 'em to be pretty anyway, not his face I'm innerested in." Tiny laughs, and Dan's stomach turns sickeningly.
His crony is visibly disgusted. "Fucking faggot," he mutters, slamming the door behind him as he exits.
"Ain't usually such lanky streaks of piss though," Tiny says, hauling Rorschach up off the floor by his wrists. Rorschach turns and casually headbutts him in the nose.
"Augh, fuck!" he bubbles through a viscous stream of blood, "Little fucker, gonna tenderize you!" He catches Rorschach with a solid right hook, follows with an elbow to the stomach. Rorschach doubles over, falling to his knees, gasping painfully. Bruised rib, Dan thinks, horrified brain latching on to something it understands.
"Don't," Dan croaks. "Leave him alone." He grimaces in frustration, his futile words echoing ridiculously in his ears. Rorschach's head snaps up, staring with an unreadable expression, brown eyes fixed on him. Dan reads the desperation brewing there, and the steely defiance, but all he can think about is how he'd always thought they'd be green.
Tiny grabs Rorschach by the hair, thick fingers fisting into his unruly curls. Rorschach's expression doesn't change, not even a flinch. "Aw, what, this your girlfriend? Don't worry, I'll treat him good." That ugly laugh again. He pushes Rorschach face-first to the concrete floor, catches his raised hip with one meaty hand and leans over to ping off the suspenders. He tugs at the zipper of Rorschach's pants.
Rorschach's eyes widen, wrinkling his forehead in an almost comical expression, "Get off," he hisses through clenched teeth, chin pressed to the floor.
"Whatcha think I'm tryin' to do? Hold still, ya little cunt." Tiny unzips his own pants, kicking them off into the corner of the room. Rorschach snarls, cuffed hands curling into fists.
"Pervert. Filthy deviant. Hands off me." Rorschach squirms, trying to eel away from his assailant. "Depraved scum, should rip off your— ngh!" Rorschach's vitriol stalls as Tiny brings his hand down squarely on his ass. Dan flinches at the sharp smack of the impact.
"Oh yeah, I love it when they talk dirty." Tiny pulls Rorschach back, parking him flush against his crotch. The result is immediate and explosive; Rorschach thrashes bodily in his attempt to get away, losing his balance and tipping sideways to sprawl on the floor. He kicks out, catching Tiny in the shin. That earns him a boot in the stomach, and Tiny hoists him to his knees once again. Rorschach's chest heaves, eyes glittering. He won't look Dan in the face.
Dan gathers his strength and yanks hard, cuff chains screeching against the pipes. There isn't the slightest bit of give. His shoulders send needles of pain down his arms, and he realizes he's stretched out as far as he can, cuffs biting into his wrists.
"Rorschach," he chokes out, syllables mangled and laden with desperation. "Rorschach..."
He has no idea what he wants to say to his partner, his friend, only that he wants him to know how sickened and appalled and outraged he is, and more; wants him to know he'd do anything to make this stop. Please. Stop. Stop stop stop...
Tiny pushes Rorschach down and yanks off his dingy boxers. His penis hangs flaccid between his freckled thighs, and suddenly all of Dan's idle fantasies about his partner are rendered grotesque. How could he have thought of him this way; pinned beneath him, pushed against a wall, over his kitchen table? This is the reality of such a scenario. That he had entertained such desires, however unlikely he was to act on them, leaves him disgusted at himself. Ashamed.
Tiny spits onto Rorschach's ass, saliva and blood mingling as it slides between his buttocks. He seems to be enjoying himself, like this is personally gratifying as well as a cruel and effective power-play.
Rorschach's cheek twitches, and he struggles half-heartedly. Dan can see that he is shaking. No, no no, he thinks frantically. Don't give up. God please, don't let him do this to you, don't—
The world blurs around Dan, already poor vision distorted as the tears come. He hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched around a sob. He can't cover his ears though, can't block out Rorschach's agonized howl or the thug's satisfied grunt.
"Hey, Owl-man, pay attention. Hey. You fucking watch this or I'll tear him open."
Dan can feel his gorge rising. Rorschach's face is pressed against the concrete, pale ass in the air. Tiny leers at Dan. "Thought you'd get off watching this shit." He grunts like an animal. "Goddamn perverts, the whole bunch o'ya." He begins pounding into Rorschach at an unforgiving pace, scraping his cheek against the rough floor as the slap of flesh on flesh echoes off the concrete walls. "Nhhg, fuck, he's tight. Nice, figured you woulda loosened him all up."
"Not— not homosexual," Rorschach grits out.
"Sure have a lotta cock in your ass for a straight guy." Tiny yanks Rorschach by the cuffs, pulling him back to meet his brutal thrusts. Rorschach's eyes are tightly shut, his mouth moving silently, twisted into a desperate O. Tears of humiliation run down his sharp cheeks, mingling with perspiration to drip off his chin and spatter to the floor. There's dark blood slicking his lips and teeth; Dan realizes he must have bitten down on his tongue.
"Hnh. C'mon you little bitch, make some noise for daddy." Tiny sinks his fingers into Rorschach's thigh. Rorschach tenses his shoulders, clenches his teeth. Doesn't make a sound, just braces himself against the relentless assault.
His thrusts soon become more erratic, the filth spewing from his mouth more disjointed and nonsensical. He comes with a string of curses and pulls out, letting Rorschach drop like a ragdoll, limp and ungainly. Tiny stands over his handiwork for a long moment, then hunkers down to jam a finger into Rorschach's ass, then smears the come-covered digit across Rorschach's face before forcing it into his mouth.
Dan finally loses it, heaving over the floor, the nauseating knot of fear in his belly tightening unbearably when he realizes that Rorschach isn't going to bite down, isn't going to break that finger with familiar calm fury.
"Whore." Tiny mutters, giving him a final kick in the ribs. Rorschach curls around himself, head tucked against his knees. "Terror of the underworld my ass. Fucking pathetic little queer." The thug shucks on his pants and leaves, heavy door locking behind him.
The light goes out, plunging them back into darkness.
The silence is unbearable.
"Oh shit, " Dan breathes. "Oh shit, oh shit." A little louder, tremulous. "Rorschach?"
A wet inhalation. "Daniel." His voice sounds flatter than usual, the grit scoured away. Dan hears him move, can picture the agonizing struggle to his knees, can hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he grabs at his pants with cuffed hands, trying and failing to cover himself.
Dan swallows convulsively. "Rorschach," he says, voice thick. "C'mere, buddy. Just—" Just please, please, let me...
He feels a weight against his chest, Rorschach slumping against him. Cursing his cuffed hands, he tucks the man's head under his chin, trying to offer what comfort he can as Rorschach shakes violently. Dan presses his mouth to matted hair as harsh sobs wrack his partner, loud and savage in the echoing basement, terrifying alien noises.
"You didn't deserve that," he whispers, again and again. "You're a good man. Didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that." Dan pauses, trying to subdue the quiver in his voice. "I'm so sorry."
"Not a whore," Rorschach spits, as his barking sobs give way to heavy, hitching breaths.
"Not a whore," Dan agrees. "A good man. My partner."
Rorschach shifts beneath his chin, ghosting warm breath over Dan's throat and pressing damp, clammy skin against skin. He feels lips moving as Rorschach whispers, "Daniel."
Dan squeezes his eyes shut, praying that Rorschach can't feel his pulse racing. "Yeah, buddy?"
"Have to get out of here, Daniel. Found lock-pick."