You are not dying. [ there is a kind of intensity behind the words that almost scares sam, by how quickly they escape from him. he's been worried, through this whole process, working on a level of adrenaline-fueled experience that, no matter how often he finds himself in this situation, will always come with an undercurrent of fear. but it's the ferocity of the words that catch him, the force of how much he needs to convince jaskier, as much as himself, that it's not going to happen.
( and yes, okay, he realizes that there's a good chance jaskier's focus point is somewhere else entirely. that he may not be speaking sense at all, or that he means it in more of a general sense, rather than this specific moment. people die all the time is all he says, and maybe sam shouldn't be so defensive about it in the first place, but something akin to protective desperation is - apparently - waiting just below the surface. )
it's a relief, as he watches jaskier react to the taste of the potion, that the magic has worked. sam had already experienced his fair share of hallucinations from others, so he knows to prepare himself for the worst (he still can't quite wipe away the distant smell of blood after seeing alucard's, still haunted by shadows in the dark from geralts). so, once jaskier has swallowed it back, sam is checking - the wound, as it slowly seems to shift in place. the room around them, and what jaskier might bring into this.
for all that sam believes himself prepared, though, he doesn't seem to know what to do with the image of a single woman - a figure in black, by his bedside. isn't exactly sure how to react to her, as she steps in close and brings her hands around jaskier's. he doesn't recognize the crooked jaw, but something about those eyes. he looks from her, to jaskier, wary though still feeling that burn of protectiveness, keeping himself poised over jaskier's wounded arm, keeping himself from staring too intently as the magic begins to work. ]
I came as soon as I knew. [ sam watches her hands squeeze, gently, around jaskier's hand as she pulls it close to her chest. he is still uncertain, though now incredibly curious, his own head tilting close as if trying to follow that familiar twinge he can almost grab hold of. sam wants to ask right out what is happening, what memory this woman is associated with, but he's reminded that jaskier wasn't in the tunnels and may not, exactly, grasp what is happening. so sam goes for a more round-about way through the conversation itself. ]
Who's our friend? [ polite, a small smile playing at his already tired expression. it's barely been a couple of hours, now, but until jaskier's arm has completely stitched itself back together, sam's not going to be quite ready to breathe. ]
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( and yes, okay, he realizes that there's a good chance jaskier's focus point is somewhere else entirely. that he may not be speaking sense at all, or that he means it in more of a general sense, rather than this specific moment. people die all the time is all he says, and maybe sam shouldn't be so defensive about it in the first place, but something akin to protective desperation is - apparently - waiting just below the surface. )
it's a relief, as he watches jaskier react to the taste of the potion, that the magic has worked. sam had already experienced his fair share of hallucinations from others, so he knows to prepare himself for the worst (he still can't quite wipe away the distant smell of blood after seeing alucard's, still haunted by shadows in the dark from geralts). so, once jaskier has swallowed it back, sam is checking - the wound, as it slowly seems to shift in place. the room around them, and what jaskier might bring into this.
for all that sam believes himself prepared, though, he doesn't seem to know what to do with the image of a single woman - a figure in black, by his bedside. isn't exactly sure how to react to her, as she steps in close and brings her hands around jaskier's. he doesn't recognize the crooked jaw, but something about those eyes. he looks from her, to jaskier, wary though still feeling that burn of protectiveness, keeping himself poised over jaskier's wounded arm, keeping himself from staring too intently as the magic begins to work. ]
I came as soon as I knew. [ sam watches her hands squeeze, gently, around jaskier's hand as she pulls it close to her chest. he is still uncertain, though now incredibly curious, his own head tilting close as if trying to follow that familiar twinge he can almost grab hold of. sam wants to ask right out what is happening, what memory this woman is associated with, but he's reminded that jaskier wasn't in the tunnels and may not, exactly, grasp what is happening. so sam goes for a more round-about way through the conversation itself. ]
Who's our friend? [ polite, a small smile playing at his already tired expression. it's barely been a couple of hours, now, but until jaskier's arm has completely stitched itself back together, sam's not going to be quite ready to breathe. ]