abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust

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[ 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.]

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[Ah. That is distinctly not Ciri. He manages to lift his head to see that he is being carried, arms under his back and his legs. His head moves to rest against his chest, his cheek pressed to the warmth. He can hear a heartbeat under the rumble of his voice.

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.]

[ sam nearly laughs at that, the rough sound of his voice, the graveled not very good. no, he supposes not, but an answer at all is better than nothing.

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. ]

[He distantly knows Sam does not speak particularly fast, but it takes all his effort to focus on the words. With time, they're becoming more clear, but... he's also beginning to feel the pain again.

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.

[ he watches consciousness slip over jaskier like a shirt, struggling through the last bits of it as it catches. it’s easy to tell when he starts feeling the pain set it, the tension shooting through him almost instantly. jaskier curses, and sam sets a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him still from moving too quickly, pushing himself too hard. ] Hey, hey, you’re okay-

[ 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?

I am breathing. [It is a final spark of panic, a real note of anger alongside the panic.] I wouldn't be speaking if I wasn't --

[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.

[ sam knows that the magic takes a moment to sink in, knows that it will be at least a moment, if not a couple. but even still, the anger tinged with jaskier’s panic hits close to home, and sam’s mind immediately moves to plan b. to the next option, if this doesn’t work. he doesn’t yet feel confident in his own abilities, here, so it’s possible it just didn’t work at all, but-

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. ]

[It's probably for the best the calming magic is swirling so thickly in his veins -- or perhaps that's simply mixing with the fog of blood loss -- because not only would he be panicked, he'd be annoyed.

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.]

I never said you were. But you’re also in a lot of pain- just wanna make sure you know what’s happening.

[ 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?

[He thought, a little drunkenly, that it probably didn't matter if he knew what was happening, because there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. And that should terrify him. He could lay here and die while Sam did whatever he did, and he would be unable to stop it. Forces outside of his control.

He should be afraid. He wasn't.

Sam's magic. He sank into it.]

People die all the time. For the worst reasons. [He says the things he would normally be screaming. Probably for the best he can't do it now. Jaskier closes his eyes, feeling this awful lurch in his stomach. The potion tasted indescribable, as potions do. Cold and slimy and it still soothed his parched throat, run ran from the sand he'd inhaled.] There was a witch.

[It's hard enough to keep hold of this conversation as it is, but in context, it made sense to him. Yennefer was there. Whatever the potion hadn't done, she had. Apparently. From what Geralt had told him.

Geralt. Where was --

He opened his eyes. And there she is. Not the Yennefer of that memory -- and as quickly as it came, the memory slips out of his head -- but the one of the Horizon, with her crooked jaw and bright, violet eyes. The way she blinked them coquettishly, except it had been so genuine. She holds his hand in both of hers, and it's warm again. He smiles at her.] How did you get here so fast?

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. ]

[Jaskier may have hummed as a response. It remains true, either way. And if he is to remember how he felt -- well, however long ago it was, it feels true for him, too.

In a way, it's almost worse now, when he feels sort of numb.

So it was until she shows up, holding his hand. It feels quite warm, actually. A part of Jaskier knows quite well this is not correct, but the thought appears and dissolves, because this is what he wants right now. Someone rushing to his side because he was hurt, holding onto him with concern. That it is Yennefer is even better.]

How could you not know? Her name is lauded across the Continent. [Not as she is; he says it for that shy little smile she'd given him before, because... it's sweet. And he wants to think of anything else but --

Well, whatever his problem was a moment ago.] Yen, I hope you took care of the horses. And Moglad. He's so smitten with you.

[Ah, and there he is! The moogle flutters behind Yennefer's head, giving a spin through the air with a flutter of his wings. He bows to his master, his bard hat not hiding his pom, but still placed at a jaunty angle on top of his very round head. I certainly couldn't let her come alone, kupo!

To Jaskier, it makes perfect sense everyone would come to see him so urgently. He barely needs the potion's help to imagine this.] Oooh, Sam! You can meet Moglad! He's my apprentice. Very talented considering he only has paws.

[ sam's eyes fall back to jaskier's arm briefly, and linger for a moment longer than he intended, a little mesmerized by proof that the potion has started to work. he wonders if it's painful, how the tissue and veins stitch themselves back together, but jaskier barely seems to notice. sam's fingers gently curl around jaskier's wrist, feels an unnatural warmth coming from his skin closer there, but it's all good. it's magic. it's working. sam reminds himself to breathe a bit as his eyes turn back to the others, now, the woman who is giving jaskier a small, shy, and possibly a bit embarrassed smile. the way she steps a little closer, how she squeezes jaskier's hand a bit more.

it's not until jaskir says yen that sam feels his eyes widen. there's...no way, is there? the eyes are close enough, maybe, but the rest of this scene is too different from what sam knows of yennefer. lauded across the continent he says, and if sam wasn't already trying to keep up, he might have lifted a brow at that. ]

Of course. [ yennefer says, looking concerned but...fond? maybe? as she reaches up to brush hair from jaskier's forehead. as she tuts at him, worried, though with very little attention to the actual blood or sand or scrapes that cover him. some of those start to close too, with the potion, but there's a good chance sam won't really notice that until much later. because right now? he figures he just needs to start feeling comfortable in the confusion, which is why he's not at all the least bit surprised when another creature appears, fluttering behind yennefer's head.

this is jaskier's hallucination. it could be much worse. much worse than...whatever that flying, talking, round creature is apparently supposed to be. ]

You've already got an apprentice? [ sam tries to sound light, like he's more impressed with jaskier's teaching ability than anything else. ] Yeah I can...see how that would complicate things. [ paws...talking... sam glances back to the wound, only slightly using it as a grounding effort, and feels an immense relief in realizing he can't see bone any longer. it's working, but it still needs time. ]

He should play something, right?

Well, of course. [And he scoffs lightly, the fingers of his injured arm curling. As the potion takes over both his mind and his body -- and on top of it all, Sam's magic -- he has truly forgotten, for the moment, what he was so worried about. For surely he was worried about something, the feeling slipped through his fingers. It helps that he can no longer feel it: the pain, his arm, or nearly anything. It is a sleepy sort of plane he rests in now, where the family he thinks that gather around him are not related to him by blood, but are friends and family nonetheless.

Oh, right. They're here for... ah, some reason. And oh, look, there's Geralt, a shadow of a girl riding his shoulders with emeralds for eyes. Geralt grunts in a boorish manner, but translated to person-speak, it simply means: I'm here.]

Oh, Sam, your kitchen is going to be so busy at this rate. [He laughs lightly, attempting to roll back a little, but barely even tipping his body. Mm, there's something in the air -- stew. Rabbit stew, cooked over a burning fire, and there's enough for everyone.]

Moglad, yes. You should play now that everyone is arriving. [For... for something. A party? Yes, a party. Jaskier, after all, frequents parties, and he has yet to show Ciri a proper one. As the moogle raises his paws and a lute appears in his hands, there is a song in the air as the shadow-Ciri touches his hand, pressed next to Yen.] Ah, Ciri, I owe you a sweet roll. You really did carry me so far...

[ it’s comforting, truly, that jaskier doesn’t seem at all in pain. whether it’s the potion working, or something else, the shifts in his expression are at some curious, at times soft, but generally in-edges by the level of pain he must be in. sam notices his fingers curling, and worried that it may be a tightening of muscles and tendon, sam slides his fingers between jaskier’s. he doesn’t think much of it, about the gentle way his hand settles in jaskier’s, but another glance shows him the potion is working. that jaskier’s arm will be okay.

his attention shifts up at the appearance of another figure, and he allows himself the easy smile upon seeing geralt, with a green eyes girl on his shoulders. geralt and ciri, yennefer and moglad. sam watches them all come to jaskier’s side, worry and concern and companionship, all in different ways.

sam blinks, the sudden thought of a family at a sick loved one’s bedside filtering through. jaskier makes some comment about his kitchen, about being busy, and sam squeezes his hand. ] It deserves a chance to be used. It’s been a while since I cooked for so many.

[ so many, all brought together through jaskier. so many, all here just for him. of, maybe, it’s more apt to say - so many that jaskier would want, here. in the tunnels, the visions sam had and had shared were all of the darker sort, traumatic events laid plain and open. here, jaskier brings him a family. his family.

( and sam, in some distance way, feels almost like he’s intruding. a bystander, in an otherwise private moment. )

the smell that wafts through the room is warm, seasoned, stew. sam feels his own stomach grumble, at it, and even if he knows none of this is actually real, he can’t help but eye the way this yennefer squeezes jaskier’s hand. how she makes room for ciri, one of her arms going over the young girl’s. ]

Jaskier… [ sam says softly, trying to get his attention. ]

[They crowd around him, and sometimes move in and out in unnatural ways that Jaskier is too far gone to really notice. This all fits into what his heart wants: some comfort, some bitching (from Geralt, of course), and the girl who is both a girl and a woman but with the same green eyes -- and in the back there are shadows of others: a tall white-haired elf, and a smaller white-haired man with a low voice (why is it always the white hair? Hector really mustn't had called him out about it --) There's a vampire, though one could hardly tell by looking at him, and those mean are shadows that move in and out compared to the solid colors of the people he knows the best.

And, of course, there is no need to look for Sam, because he's the closest. Jaskier squeezes his hand and finds there is enough strength, for a moment, to do it... and then his strength is leeched away, Ciri's magic unknowingly still seeping into his veins.]

You stay. [He feels some part of Sam pulling away, so he must be insistent. No one can miss the party. In his other hand he grips a pearlescent dragon scale, and near the back is a shorter woman with horns and a tail.] Someone has to keep them in line. And Geralt is terrible at crowds.

[He doesn't hear Sam's call of his name, his grip slack already. He turns his head and the visions all shimmer and shift, until his eyes close and he is once again unconscious. The potion attempted to fight the leeching of his life, but it couldn't heal him and protect the fluttering pulse that has grown lighter by the minute.]

[ this is the part sam had been expecting - the odd sensations, the things that aren't quite right, figures that don't make sense for the space or the things around them. there are some faces sam recognizes, some he isn't sure are from here or home. they all come with the same intention, the warmth of comfort, of gravitation. sam is a bit struck at how, given the opportunity, jaskier hallucinations a doting crowd - but not exactly in the way he might expect. it holds the smile on sam's face as he watches them, coming close and then backing away again, focus and features solidifying and then easing away again.

the squeeze around his hand, though - that's something of note. something good. sam's eyes go immediately down to their hands, and then to jaskier's face, smiling broadening with the first piece of solidly good news. he can work the hand, still, and while the wound is still piecing itself together, it looks better with every second. better, good. sam lets out a breathing, without realizing he'd been holding it for a few moments. ]

I'm right here- not going anywhere. [ the words remind him of their conversation in sam's home, of what it feels like to return somewhere, to stay. sam squeezes jaskier's hand back gently, reaching up with his still free hand to wipe away some of the dust and grime from jaskier's brow, his forehead. ] Nowhere I'd rather be.

[ and that is when sam feels jaskier's grip so slack, watches as his had turns into the pillow. the images around them start to fade off, disappearing with jaskier's consciousness, and sam waits. for minutes, for hours - with his hand still in jaskier's, one finger on his pulse line just below his palm.

jaskier's heartbeat is stable and consistent, sure, but sam just. needs a moment to double check it stays that way. ]

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[ CLOSED ] when I'm like this, you're the one I trust

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