Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cointosser) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
cointosser) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-10-01 09:35 pm
[ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust
Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, eventually Sam?
When: First week of October
Where: The desert outskirts of Cadens
What: Jaskier attempts to help Ciri learn magic with disastrous results.
Warnings: Bodily injury, may move to mild body horror depending.
[With the climate they found themselves in, it only made sense for them to really embrace their new... eccentric talents. At least, that was what Jaskier tells himself, and when he tells himself it -- regarding Ciri, in particular -- it all makes sense, of course. If they are all gifted with magic, then it only makes sense to make use of it.
After all, it's free. And they need skills to make a living off of. As far as he understands, Ciri is, er, well. Like Geralt. A hunter.
Magic, hunting. It all fits together.
Okay, fine. He's terribly bored also. And he's tired of being the only one with magic around here. (He's still avoiding the whole plant thing. He prefers not to think about it, actually.]
All right, my dear. I -- well, I don't claim to know many, er, spells, but we can start on what I started on. Simply a little bird. [He, of course, adds a completely unnecessary flourish to his movements, and a bit of sparks, holding out his hand with a dove sitting on his palm.]
It's a bit hard to describe. I sort of... imitated watching it, I suppose.
[He sort of definitely wants to see Ciri try to imitate his flourish.]
When: First week of October
Where: The desert outskirts of Cadens
What: Jaskier attempts to help Ciri learn magic with disastrous results.
Warnings: Bodily injury, may move to mild body horror depending.
[With the climate they found themselves in, it only made sense for them to really embrace their new... eccentric talents. At least, that was what Jaskier tells himself, and when he tells himself it -- regarding Ciri, in particular -- it all makes sense, of course. If they are all gifted with magic, then it only makes sense to make use of it.
After all, it's free. And they need skills to make a living off of. As far as he understands, Ciri is, er, well. Like Geralt. A hunter.
Magic, hunting. It all fits together.
Okay, fine. He's terribly bored also. And he's tired of being the only one with magic around here. (He's still avoiding the whole plant thing. He prefers not to think about it, actually.]
All right, my dear. I -- well, I don't claim to know many, er, spells, but we can start on what I started on. Simply a little bird. [He, of course, adds a completely unnecessary flourish to his movements, and a bit of sparks, holding out his hand with a dove sitting on his palm.]
It's a bit hard to describe. I sort of... imitated watching it, I suppose.
[He sort of definitely wants to see Ciri try to imitate his flourish.]
no subject
It's freezing cold.
He screws one eyes shut and managed to force the other open, head swimming. He recognizes a voice, and seconds later it all sorts of puts itself together. He does, at least, recognize its owner, too.]
Cirilla, please. [He tries to move his other arm and suddenly finds he cannot. It's as if he can't feel it at all except as this pulsating, horrible pain.] P -- princesses do not apologize.
[Why is there so much fucking sand? He recalls screaming. Hearing it. From how his throat feels, doing it, too. He rubs at his eyes, blinking sand off his lashes, and finally looks down at the mass that is his arm. He doesn't recognize the shirt at first, if only because it's soaked in red.] Oh, fuck. That's a lot of -- that's all mine?
[Another row of dizziness hits him and he sways.] Where's... [Where's?] I think I'm going to faint.
[It's a little late for that.]
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Stay with me, Jaskier. Please. Look at me. Eyes on me.
[ She says, as she leans over him, face streaked with sweat and tears and sand. It's impossible to tell how much blood he's lost, but it does seem... a lot. A fucking lot. Ciri gulps in hot desert air that dries her throat out on impact, her face a picture of misery and shock, but her hands are surprisingly steady. They move as if with a will of their own, driven by practiced years of tending her own injuries, which have left their mark on her exposed arms and torso in visible scars. She ties the cloth tight around his arm and scoots around behind him, leaning Jaskier's upper body against her knees to keep him steady and on his side (back is too risky; what if he chokes or vomits?) as she tugs off her belt and uses it to strap his arm steady across his chest.
The whole while, whether he's managed to stay awake or not, she keeps talking, desperately trying to reassure herself just as much as him. ]
You're going to be all right. You'll be okay. We'll find you a healer. A real one. I'm sorry. Gods, I'm so-- fuck-- Y-you're all right. We'll get you fixed up and you can sing a stupid song about this later. I'll give you my share of all the sweet buns as long as you ask.
Just don't fucking die on me from such a little scratch. You'll embarrass yourself. What will I tell Geralt?
[ What is she going to tell Geralt?
Ciri starts crying again. ]
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There were knives. A knife. And vines.
He does look at her because following orders in the moment feels very easy; much easier than trying to put things together. Right. He was going to faint -- or had he? The moment feels wavy, dreamlike. She tugs the shirt around his arm too tight and the pain is a lightning flash through his head, a crack. He cries out and all at once is very, very awake. It makes him quite aware of how cold he is beginning to feel.
Oh no. She's prattling. Only Jaskier is supposed to prattle. Things are very bad, then.] I'm -- I'm sure I'm fine. [With whatever she's doing. His head spins again. The air is thick with the smell of blood. It is startling familiar to him, like when Geralt slays a monster --]
Geralt. [He croaks it, his throat and mouth dry. His lips hurt, too. Even among everything else, he can feel the pain of them rubbed raw from sand.] You -- you should get... Geralt. He can help.
[For the moment, he cannot remember Geralt is not here. Even though he's not really sure where he is still. He tries to get up to his knees, not realizing one of his arms is now immobile. Oh, shit. Geralt will never let him hear the end of this.] Ciri, where is your shirt?
[Oh, boy. He might be going into shock. His stomach twists.] Please stop crying.
[It was very much terrifying him.]
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[ Ciri chokes out the words, trying to swallow the tears, responding both to his plea for her to stop crying and to get Geralt. She wants nothing so badly as to get him right now, but she cannot. She wishes she could grab hold of Jaskier and portal them both out of here immediately, at least get them back to the inn-- but she dare not.
So she buckles her belt in a shitty, makeshift sling around Jaskier's chest and shoulder to keep his torn arm steady, and when he tries to stagger up to his knees, she staggers upward too and hauls him up alongside her. ]
I took it off. [ She finally answers his question, distantly, voice flat now that the tears have been willed to a stop. ] It's hot.
[ He can't tell what's going on. That's a bad sign, but Ciri does her best to shove the panic toward the back of her head, turning her focus on what needs to be done next. She's done all she can for Jaskier here. ]
Come on, Jaskier. Stay with me. Move your legs. You can walk.
[ She bears most of his weight with his good arm across her shoulders, dragging him along if he can't make the steps, pulling them both toward the mules that shy and snort at her approach. ]
Easy... [ She might be talking to the animals, or to Jaskier, or to herself. Reassuring all of them, perhaps. ]
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Is it? It feels... [He's already shivering a bit.] Cold.
[Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he recognizes that may also be a bad thing. Ciri certainly, in comparison to his own clammy skin, is blazing hot; a star, a sun. He holds onto her with what strength he has, which is trickling out about the same rate as his blood. Stay with her. Yes. He's here. On his feet all of a sudden. He's lost the seconds between being near the sand, and standing.
He can't quite tell what it is. Why he's fading so quickly. It's not always like this, is it? His body feels as if stones have been tied to every extremity. Eventually he's simply holding onto her by digging his nails into her skin, not even fully realizing it.]
Oh. That explains the sounds. [Mules. They'd brought mules with them here. It's even getting hard to talk. Between his breaths that are far too shallow, the energy for it is simply... not there.
Another bad sign. Jaskier has never been quiet during his injuries.
Injuries. That reminds him -- the smallest moment of clarity, as she maneuvers him near their pack mules.] You're not hurt?
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We'll get you warmed up soon. [ Ciri promises, easing one hand away from Jaskier to make a grab for the nearest mule's lead. The animal flares its nostrils at her and shies, tossing its head, and Ciri swears under her breath. ]
Easy. Easy, boy... come on, now... please.
[ These animals are clearly more used to easy slogging trail rides carrying packs of supplies on their backs, not the smell of blood and magic and people screaming around them. These aren't battle-trained horses, just frightened, plodding little bastards. Ciri wants to shout, to yank the stupid animal to heel, but that will only be counterproductive.
Slowly (too fucking slowly), she coaxes the mule closer, tugging gently at his reins until he's close enough for her to rub his neck and try to drag Jaskier a little closer to the saddle.
His question reaches her with a few moments' delay, grinding her mule-related thoughts to a sudden halt. Ciri turns her head to look at him. ]
N-no... I'm not.
[ It's the first time she's actually stopped to realize it. She'd been so preoccupied with making sure Jaskier didn't bleed the fuck out that she hadn't even truly processed that her arms aren't covered in the deep scratches she knows should be there. The pain is a memory. A memory of vicious thorns and bruising, strangling vines -- and nothing more.
There's so much blood and dirt on both of them at this point, it takes her a long moment of staring at Jaskier to understand. Or-- no, not understand, exactly, but to start to maybe barely put it together. His throat is bruised and scratched, Ciri realizes with a jolt. His, but not hers. ]
...what the fuck?
[ The curse escapes in a dismayed whisper. She feels... a little sick. Ciri swallows hard, struggling to find her voice before she keeps talking, louder this time. Almost too loud, like she's trying to make up for her inability to sound truly reassuring in inflection by just saying the words bigger. ]
W-we need to get you to a healer. It's not far. Just gotta get you on this trusty little steed first.
Brace yourself.
[ It's not going to be pleasant or comfortable. Ciri remembers, very dimly, how Jaskier had laughed in the market on their first morning here and challenged her to carry him around. Lucky for him, she proves herself now.
Ciri shifts her grip, turning her shoulder into his body and bending her knees until he's draped over her, sack-of-potato-like. Now, she just has to get him into the saddle. Or vaguely across it. More or less. ]
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Brace yourself.
Unfortunately, he has nothing to brace with.
Fortunately, he no longer has the energy to scream.
Because he wants to. All at once, every little cut and thorn in him makes itself utterly known, kickstarted by the flash of pain from his arm. He doesn't scream, but he does make a sick, wet moan.
This is all very bad, but his head continues to float.
He doesn't fight her hold, no matter how much it hurts. And by the time she's managed to get him slung across the mule's saddle -- it's not exactly the first time this has happened -- his head is swimming and he's drifting in and out of consciousness, seconds at a time.
He slips back awake, the mule underneath too warm to his touch. He swears, distantly, he can hear the cry of a bird. A hawk.]
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So Ciri prioritizes moving quickly over both their comfort, as neither of them are going to be in any way at ease no matter what. She hoists Jaskier up, leaving him listlessly draped over the mule for a minute while she gathers up the lead of the second animal and ties it securely to the saddlebag strap in the back, leaving enough room to keep either beast from panicking. Luckily, as hauling mules used to walking in chains and being weighed down, they should be both sturdy enough to hold two riders at once and follow one another without complaint.
Once she's sure they're about as likely to all get back to the city as possible, as a configuration, Ciri pulls herself up behind Jaskier. He's unconscious again. Ignoring this -- and the way it makes her blood cold and clammy inside her -- she moves him, painfully rolling over and adjusting his limp body to lean across her lap instead of slung face down like so much luggage.
They ride. He drifts, and she talks to him, aimless and stupid little words that leave her mouth and are lost to the gritty wind with neither of them remembering their contents. He moans, and she soothes his sweaty brow with the back of a hand and a muffled curse.
Somewhere overhead, a hawk cries. Its shadow falls on them, circling. ]
Nothing dead for you to scavenge here. [ Ciri mutters, ignoring it and pressing the mule faster despite its heavy burden. ]
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except something is wrong today, because sam is only inside the front door for maybe thirty seconds before he hears the cry - a sharp, angry noise. ongoing, urgent. sam doesn't know if he's heard anything like that before, and just as he goes to the window to see where it's come from, red swoops right inside, nearly taking out sam's eye when he does. ]
The hell-?! [ sam watches red make a wide circle around the main room, beating his wings with that same urgency, and immediately sam catches on. there hadn't been a reason, before now, though sam always knew that red was out doing rounds, checking on the other summoned, keeping his eyes out on the city itself. it just catches sam for a second to see him reacting to something, for there to be something he's come back to get sam, and that's when it hits.
someone's hurt - something's happened. he only needs that second before his entire mood shifts, from relaxed to on, grabbing his bag and his shield and checking the room one last time before he heads out. red, impatient, shrieks again. ] Okay, okay, I'll keep up, let's go- [ and they're off, sam wishing beyond anything that he had his wings today, wishing he could keep up with red as he weaves between the buildings.
sam takes off through the city all the same, keeping one eye on the roads in front of him and one up on red above. he has no idea what he's getting into, what could be going on that has red so upset, but sam doesn't really give himself time to start imagining what he's about to find, because it's taking all his attention to keep sight on red.
he's nearly at the city gates before he sees them - ciri's blonde hair nearly white in the sun, and a crumpled body across her lap on the back of a mule. not just any body, jaskier's, and while sam is still too far to see the extent of the damage, the smears of red are hard to miss, even at this distance. red shrieks again and sam curses, remembering that geralt is gone, had gone out to the desert, had gone looking for clues about mal. if sam had the time, the guilt that would have welled up might have stuttered his steps, but as it happens he just takes off in a sprint towards the two, mind already taking stock of what he has with him, of what they need to do. jaskier was hurt, but how badly? what about ciri? what happened? did they run into someone? something? ]
Ciri! Ciri, hey!
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It isn't just the blood loss. This is too much just for his arm. Isn't it? He drifts again.
It is a sharp exclamation that wakes him again, but the voice is honey, a sweetness he recognizes. He opens his eyes, crusted with sand still, attempting to lift his arm but moving not a bit.]
This. [One word. He made it. Yet it felt like a monumental task just getting that out. He's exhausted. Beyond exhausted. He may be dead already? Which is unfortunate.] Really. Hurts.
[And he's out again. The small reserve he'd stocked away of any sort of energy is gone.]
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Her heart jumps, and her heels dig into the mule's sides, urging the beast forward into a lurching, grudging lope that can't exactly be called a canter at this speed but seems to be its best attempt. She braces Jaskier as well as she can against her body, and the lead rope tugs along the second mule into a similarly unhappy faster pace. Ciri squints against the sunlight. ]
...Sam?
[ They lurch closer, and his cry hits her like a slap, invigorating and stinging all at once. ]
Jaskier... Saints, Jaskier, it's Sam. How did he--?
Sam!!
[ Ciri raises her voice as they ride closer, Sam sprinting forward to meet them. Against her, Jaskier's dead weight seems to stir faintly. She catches the thick, strained sound of his voice as Sam approaches within earshot, and the excitement and relief over having someone to help turns cold all over again. Her parched lips part to say something to him--
But the only thing she can say is I'm sorry, and Jaskier's made it clear that he doesn't want to hear it. So she turns her attention to Sam instead. ]
He's hurt. [ She announces the obvious without preamble. ] Lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a healer.
[ Up close, Sam will see the makeshift job she's done bandaging and bracing Jaskier's arm. The blood on both of them, drying and streaked with sweat. Ciri is in nothing but her bandeau, shoulders and back already pink from the sun but otherwise remarkably unscathed for how bloodstained she looks.
The mule tosses his head nervously, and Ciri tightens the reins, drawing their whole grim little procession up short. ]
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he recognizes the fear like an old friend from across a room, and he pushes it back away again. no yet, not here. sam can’t tell if he sees jaskier stir from this distance or if it’s just the jostling of the animal, but god, god, that’s a lot of blood. sam feels each piece of his training kick into gear. red circle above them and in some ways, it feels like they have an extra set of eyes, another layer of protection. ]
I can help. [ is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he gets close enough, his own breathing quick as he surveys what he can. jaskier, ciri, the wounds, the blood. it’s his arm, but he can’t really see it through the fabric, and he needs to get them both somewhere to get this worked on. ] Jaskier? Jaskier, hey, you made it, the hard part’s done, but you can’t sleep on us yet. [ sam’s voice is nearly upbeat, confident in the pressure around the three of them. he’s trying to see if jaskier will respond, if he’s still reacting or gone completely, and all the while he’s checking vitals, first, his hands moving across what he can reach - jaskier’s pulse is weak, fluttery, and he’s covered in wounds, scratches and bruises and scrapes and blood. there’s so much blood, and so much sand, and sam pushes away the way a voice in the back of his head says just like riley. except it’s not, it won’t be, and his attention goes to ciri, questions coming rapid fire even as his hands are still on jaskier. ]
How long has he been out? And what about you? Are you okay? What happened? Here, help me get him down- [ he moves to the other side of the mule, sliding his hands under jaskier’s shoulders, trying to figure out a grip that won’t aggravate the wound. ]
Do you know if his arm’s the worst of it?
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She takes a breath, and when she answers, her voice is steady. Almost eerily so, considering the situation. ]
He's been drifting in and out for about-- I'd say twenty minutes, thereabouts.
I am uninjured. And yes, the wound on his arm is the deepest and bled the most. I wrapped it as best I could. It's deep. Flayed open to the bone, and I had nothing to stitch it shut with.
[ Hence the shitty haphazard bandage. She's amazed it's stayed. Though she did tie the sleeves off tight. Hopefully not too tight. Jaskier needs his arms. Both of them. Gods--
Another breath, shallow but measured. Focus. No time for that. ]
No. I don't think we should move him much more. Take my place instead. If you can hold onto him and keep making your way toward the city, I'll ride back faster and find a healer to bring to you.
[ Ciri helps Sam push Jaskier up a little, into a nearly-sitting position (if he wasn't drooping so badly) and in the meantime starts to bring her leg around to jump off. ]
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[ sam notes the eery calm to ciri’s voice, the distinct way she doesn’t answer when he asks what happened. he could go down a whole list of possible answers, imagination running a bit wild with the lack of anything specific to hold onto, but then ciri says things like flayed and bone and he recenters back to the moment.
god, his arm. sam’s attention shifts from simple wound dressing to saving the limb, as he looks again over jaskier’s limp body. they don’t have long, if there’s any time left at all, and sam pushes the surge of worry out with his next exhale. there’s time for that later. ]
My place is closer, and I’ve got supplies. I’ll take him there. [ there’s a kind of protective authority to the words as he says them, not quite wanting to give voice to how he doesn’t know if he trusts the healers here, how he hasn’t had reason to vet them. if it’s jaskier’s arm, his hands…
sam straightens, suddenly, remembering the vial in the pocket of his pack. ciri is getting off the mule and sam’s still holding jaskier straight. ] I’ve got something that will help, if you want to follow-
[ wait, no, sam looks from ciri to red and then back. any fear and worry and panic has resettled, redistributed to adrenaline, to organized steps. he thinks of this happening, or jaskier’s limp body as sam quickly gets up on the mule’s back, gentle situating his body against jaskier’s to hold him up. ]
No- Ciri. You need to find Geralt. I’ve got Jaskier. [ a second later, he’s going to feel guilty about this, but something in ciri’s eyes tells him more than her calm tone of voice ever will. something tense and worried, even if she doesn’t look it. but that’s just it, isn’t it? he can feel bad about this later. for now, he reaches out and sets a hand on ciri’s shoulder, hand warm where ciri’s skin is still pink from the sun.
magic pushes through him, a kind of sudden but subtle settling. sam has barely used this magic, barely knows the constraints of it. when he’d used it once before, it had only been for bucky, and even then it wasn’t a good record for specifics. he looks at ciri straight on, holding her eyes.
it’s a risk, he doesn’t know how she’ll react, but it’s a gut feeling. an edge, he jumps off of, but he knows geralt will want to know and they can’t waste much more time. ]
Red can help help you find Geralt, he shouldn’t be far. When you find him, come back to my place. Okay? [ he squeezes his grip on ciri’s shoulder, giving her an encouraging smile. ] Jaskier’s going to be fine, I promise. [ because he will- there’s no other option. ]
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Once they're situated, she's about to go behind and untie the second mule's lead from the saddlebags-- when Sam stops her with a touch to her shoulder. The moment he says Geralt's name, her eyes widen, and her breath turns to lead in her lungs. Ciri swallows. ]
Right. I--
[ She has to go get Geralt. She wants to. She just... doesn't know what to say. Or where to find him. Before the panic can set in, though, something... a little odd happens. Something seems to slowly loosen in her chest, like the gentle tug of a string being unraveled, unclenching the metaphorical iron bands squeezing her ribs and letting her take a full breath more easily this time.
That's it. Breathe.
The voice in the back of her head already sounds a little like Geralt, or maybe Vesemir. She's on the pendulum, blindfolded, unsure where to step. But she can do this. Don't trip. Don't panic. Don't fall. Don't hesitate. Be in control.
Her shoulders loosen beneath Sam's fingers. Ciri nods again, with a bit more confidence. ]
Red. [ The hawk. Right. She hadn't really been paying it attention until Sam showed up, but now Ciri realizes the bird is vaguely familiar. It occurs to her, belatedly, that the bird found them and that was why Sam followed. How he'd known exactly where to go. ]
I know which direction Geralt went, but he's a few days' ride out already. I'll need a better horse.
[ She pulls away from Sam's touch and reaches over to untie her coin purse and knife from the belt being used as a makeshift sling-- and then to untie the mule, which should be better rested for not having a rider. She should be able to get back to the city fast, switch to a decent horse, and hope to catch up to Geralt in a few hours. If they're lucky. If not... she might just end up riding through the night. ]
We'll meet you back at your place. Soon.
[ And then she's on the mule, and with a final, regretful glance at Jaskier, Ciri mercilessly pushes the animal to run faster than it's ever been used to. The city's not far now. And riding -- riding, she's good at. ]
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When he finally surfaced, his whole body was limp. And moving... up and down. He opened to his eyes not to sky, but to wood. His head felt as if it may push itself out of his skull, if it still was intact at all.
And yet he felt stricken with cold.]
Ciri? [His voice was the opposite of the smooth, flirtatious ease he has so often before. This was moan and a croak at the same time, soft in volume with his attempt to shift his body only to basically move not at all. His thoughts tangle.] Did you get the mules?
[It feels very important they remember them. For... for returning.]
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jaskier. a cool chill runs down his spine that turns his attention back, resituating jaskier as he pushes the mule forward.
getting to his place takes too long, and sam isn’t even sure he breathes as they rush into the city, pushing down alleys and roads. briefly, sam hopes alina isn’t home, if only because he’s not sure he has the time to try and explain this on top of keeping jaskier up. god, god, dan’s heart has stopped three times already on this trip, just because he hadn’t been able to feel a pulse. but as they get to the building and sam slips his arms under jaskier, trying to be both gentle in his movements without jostling, and trying so hard to move as quickly as he can.
when jaskier’s voice breaks through sam’s concentration, it’s relief that floods him. even if it’s barely a voice at all, it’s something, and sam can work with something. ] Not quite, but she’ll be back soon. [ he smiles, though he’s not sure jaskier is really seeing it, eyes on the slowly approaching landing. it’s only ten feet, maybe fifteen, to his door, and he has to keep jaskier awake. ]
But morning to you too, beautiful. How you feeling? [ eight feet, seven feet. his voice is calm, and will remain so, but with a tension through it, even now. it’s the same tension keeping his limbs from getting tired, the same tension keeping him moving forward. peter’s out, which means sam will use his room, but first he has to get through the door. ] Good? Hungry?
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Mm. Warm. Like honey. It's nice.
A question. He tries to latch onto it, even if he's not entirely sure what's going on. He no longer can hear the mules. Or the cry of a bird.] Not very good.
[He listens to his heart as they make their way through a door. Inside. Explains why it seems so much darker here.] Where's Ciri gone?
[It is not a complaint that Sam is here now -- for surely that honey-voice is Sam -- but he cannot explain why he's here. Or where here is.]
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they make it through the door, and sam is taking stock of the room. the couch, the center table. walks them both through the small space, into the small bedroom, and sets jaskier down on top of the blankets. he makes a note to apologize to peter later, setting the bag down and hands going to the bandage around his arm. ] She’s on an errand, but she’ll be back. She’s okay, don’t worry, I made sure. You’re at my place, you got hurt so I’m fixing you up. [ his voice is quick as he tries to answer what he assumes jaskier is thinking, his fingers gentle as he unwraps the fabric around the wound, sensitive to when he feels it start to stick, where the blood is the thickest.
his mind is shuffling through next steps, the small amount of fear wrapped up in what he knows is his next step, if only because it’s out of his experience, the vial packed tight in the interior pocket. ] I know it’s not good, but can you tell me a little more? Can you feel your fingers?
[ the bandage is almost off, and it’s heavy with blood, thick and dark. sam feels his throat tighten, but doesn’t allow it to show on his face. ]
Do you remember what happened? [ his eyes go to jaskier’s face before pausing in the un-dressing of the bandage, reaching down to grab the bottle and set it on the counter before pulling out the basic first aid items he keeps in the pack. he doesn’t know the extent of the potion, but the need to clean the wound, first, overwhelms him. ]
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Right. Sam's place. Sam is here. And he -- was not here a moment ago.
Jaskier curses, trying to sit up. His fingers curl at the question.] Yes.
[He can't even sit up. And now that he is beginning to understand things, to gather that he is injured, that he stinks of blood, that the pain is creeping up his shoulders and into his head, he is also beginning to panic. Tears spring to his eyes as he tries to sit up again and finds he can barely lift his head.]
What happened? I -- [His heart is beating so hard all of a sudden, he can feel it jumping against his chest.] It's not her fault. You have to tell her, it wasn't her fault. [Among everything else, that is the most important thing.] She was crying, but I know it wasn't.
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[ yes. yes he can feel his fingers. sam nods, relieved, checking off one more tick off the box. he can feel his fingers, so the nerves haven’t been cut. the ligaments are still together. there’s one more layer to go and sam’s been hesitant to peel that away just yet.
that’s when jaskier seems to come more to, and sam sees the pain, the tears, the insistence in him. sam reaches out, setting a hand on jaskier’s opposite shoulder. the magic from ciri from earlier crackles, but sam hesitates. just briefly. god- he hates doing this, he wants to ask, wants to make sure jaskier knows what he’s doing, but sam sees the panic. ]
You can tell her when she gets back, she won’t be long, but first- [ okay, he can’t do this if jaskier keeps moving. ] Jaskier, I’m going to try and fix this, okay? But to do that you need to- [ the tell tale signs of panic make themselves known - his breathing, yes, but more than that. his eyes, his chest, his heart- sam is well versed with the signs of panic and pain in others and to fix the bigger step he has to first get jaskier calm.
making a quick decision, sam leans forward, setting a hand to jaskier’s cheek and turning his face towards him. it’s tear-stained and brushed with sand, grimey and flecked with blood, and sam feels something akin to recognition drop heavily in his stomach. except this is different, jaskier is different, because he’s looking back. breathing. alive. sam holds his hand there to steady him, just for a moment. ] Jaskier, breathe. [ and with that, sam seeps the same magic as before - warm and soothing, settling and grounding. it won’t do anything for the pain, but the panic, that fear, that should all settle into something more manageable. honestly, sam doesn’t know what it feels like - hadn’t with ciri, doesn’t with jaskier, and part of him wonders if it’s too invasive, too strange. but if he can get jaskier to breathe, to slow down his heart rate just for a few more moments, sam can get something done. ] I can help, but I need you to breathe for me first. Yeah? Can you do that?
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[His head drops back down from the inch or so he managed to lift it. It is not so much that he feels the magic that Sam's hand is spreading through him... it's that he knows this isn't how he should feel. He has seen a lot of terrible things. He has been in horrible danger. He knows exactly how he feels when something is terribly wrong -- and all the stickyness across his body, the pain, the stink of blood. He can remember it in a distant way: he is hurt. He is hurt very badly, and he should be freaking the fuck out right now.
He looks at Sam, staring him in the face, as the beat of his heart slows. The clench of his muscles that he can still control relax. Even the hold of his jaw softens. He inhales, counts to three, and lets it go. And he can now. He can hold his breath, because they are no longer shallow gasps. Even though it hurts to breathe.
He knows Sam is doing something to him, but in this moment... it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter not because he feels his panic evaporate, or because it is magic. It's Sam. Sam who offered his home in a place where they had no memories.
All he can do is lean into the hand on his cheek.] I'm breathing. For you.
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oh thank god, sam let’s put a breath the moment he feels jaskier settle. sam, meanwhile, entirely believes it’s the magic more than himself that has jaskier letting out a breath, leaning into his hand. ]
Good. Perfect. [ sam rubs a thumb across jaskier’s cheek, just for a moment,
to reinforce the soft words, before he sets him back against the pillow. ]
I’ve got a potion for you. It’s going to fix all of this right up. Should. You just need to drink it. [ sam’s voice is gentle again, less urgent, as he lets go of jaskier’s face and reaches for the bottle, sliding it into jaskier’s palm. ] It’s not much, but it’ll fix this right up, alright? Can you drink this for me? [ he pauses, just for a brief moment, to make sure jaskier’s fingers wrap around it before he uncorks it, supporting wrist as he pushes it up to his mouth. his other hand, as subtly as he can, tugs at the last layer of dried blood, making an effort to keep himself from wincing as he has to pull the fabric away from the muscle and tissue. ] It’ll help, okay? I just need you to drink this.
[ there is a thought, briefly, that he may need to force jaskier to drink it, but he hopes not, as he pulls the rest of the bandage away from the open wound. ]
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Unfortunately, bedside manner does not exist on the Continent.]
I'm not a child. [He would huff, but he chokes on the inhale of breath and coughs instead, and, oh. Fuck. The force of a cough is enough to make him moan, momentarily lost in the pain of it. Of everything.
Conversely, he does not need to make Jaskier drink it. He lifts his head enough that he mightn't choke chugging it, which is exactly what he does. Chugs it. In two swallows, the entire potion is down and he drops the bottle as his arm falls back. The words slur, but it's very important he tells Sam.] Funny story. This's happened before.
[What he doesn't have the energy to explain is this: almost dying, a rough ride that he barely remembers through places that blur; the urgency of it. All culminating to the moment he desperately drinks down a potion and knows, even without an elf telling him this time, that there is a chance he still might die.
His eyes close as he coughs again, this time with blood in his mouth.]
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[ sam moves quickly, then, one hand holding jaskier’s wrist up to his mouth and the other pulling away the fabric of ciri’s- god. that’s her shirt. sam’s mind is spinning, his attention both on the vial of potion that is supposed to help heal this, that he prays to god fixes this, and the now open wound. the muscle, he can see. the bone.
but jaskier manages to swallow it all, and sam has the fabric out of his wound, so hopefully it’ll heal. it’ll all heal. without the fabric, would the extra equipment. god, sam wishes he has any medical equipment at all, but jaskier swallows the potion and sam exhales, one step complete.
he doesn’t catch the bottle when jaskier drops it, letting the vial fall to the ground as he makes sure jaskier’s body settles back on the pillows. simultaneously, he thinks about how he’ll need to wash him, change his clothes, will the potion make it so he doesn’t need to dress the wound? how fast will it work? sam hovers, close and concerned, as jaskier coughs, blood on his lips. ]
Yeah? [ his brain circles through the symptoms, the possible things that might happen now that jaskier’s consumed the potion. hallucinations, zelda had said. just like down in the tunnels. he braces, hoping the magic he’d used would balance out trauma of the pain itself. ] This should be easy, then. You’ve already survived this before, you’re basically a master. [ does he need to keep him awake? sam’s eyes dart between jaskier’s face and his arm, watching as the colors seem to get brighter. as the muscle, the tissue, the blood itself seems to come alive. he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, but there’s a part of him that just wants jaskier awake. ] What happened last time?
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