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

[cointosser]

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.]

Comments

[gynvael]

[ Sam's steady expression has Geralt breathing a hint easier. Jaskier's all right. Not too surprising, to hear Jaskier's out of it for now, though he still asks, ] How long?

[ It can't have been that long, if Sam's not found cause for concern. He glances over his shoulder at Ciri first, hoping it'll at least help for her to hear that Jaskier's recovering, that he's resting. Then his eyes return to Sam for a moment steps into the room: gratitude and relief, all at once. He doesn't know what the fuck he'd have done without Sam around.

Jaskier's on the bed, arm bandaged, (unconscious, nearly died, and haven't they been here before?), and Geralt simply takes him in. For a brief second, he thinks he can let himself believe everything could be fine. Jaskier's arm will heal, the bard will awaken once he's recovered enough, reassure Ciri he doesn't blame her. They can decide what to do about her magic. Then it catches his ears, a stutter in Jaskier's heartbeat. Geralt's entire body tenses. He takes a step forward, brows knitted. It's nothing. (Isn't it?) He can't expect Jaskier's heart to be stable. But he starts to hear it, too, in the rise and fall of Jaskier's chest: shallow, uneven. A spike in the pulse. No. It's subtle, maybe only just noticeable to anyone else in the pallor of Jaskier's skin, but to him, it's as clear as day: something's wrong.

He's by Jaskier's side in a blink. If he shoulders Sam out of the way in the process, he doesn't notice. His fingers grip Jaskier's wrist. ]

Jaskier! [ Shit. When he spins around, he only stares at Sam as though Sam has got answers. There are none. Behind Sam, though, there is Ciri, colour returning to her pale cheeks. Jaskier's skin grows cold, clammy, under his palm.

Not a scratch. Not a scratch on her, he remembers her saying.

He doesn't want to say it out loud. Not with Ciri present. He looks back at Sam instead. (What the fuck is he supposed to do? His head spins; he can only come up with one thing, and it feels so oversimplified but—) ] Your magic. Can you channel?

[ Sam must have magic; he's only human and so far the most stable of them have been humans with no natural magical aptitude before arriving on this world. ]

[falcony]

[ the feeling is mutual, and almost instantaneous. geralt steps through the door, looking tired and like he's ridden through the desert (which he has, it's why there is dust and sand on both of them, a day's ride in the warm sun), but sam feels better for it. like, in this moment, there is someone else to share the weight with. he sees ciri behind geralt just a moment behind, and he manages an encouraging enough smile. he's okay he tries to say. it all worked out. his attention shifts back to geralt at the question, and then back to the room. how long? ]

A day, max. [ there had been a few hours, right after he'd passed out, that sam had just sat next to his bedside. his breathing had been steady, pulse strong enough, but the stress and adrenaline in sam needed that time to wear off. it hadn't been long enough for him to start to worry, but sam is already considering next steps. if they know anyone else with healing abilities, someone else close enough they could call.

when his eyes come back to geralt, though, he catches the sudden tension. it's subtle, quick, and sam almost wonders if he imagined it - but then geralt is stepping closer into the room and sam feels something like a cool chill drop down his spine. ] What? [ it's not that geralt shoulders by sam to get into the room so much as sam knows how to step out of the way, how to take his own steps around geralt's other side, pausing for just a moment in the doorway, all of that earlier mentioned adrenaline and training back in one half-second. because jaskier is looking worse. worse than worse. his breathing and his color are all immediate signs and when geralt spins around to look to him for answers, sam has none. can only, immediately, end up at the other side of the bed, immediately pressing fingers to jaskier's pulse, trying to count and distracted, instead, by how erratic it feels against his fingertips. ]

He hasn't been like this. He's been stable- the entire night, I've been right here, I don't know- [ I don't know what's going on. he's babbling a bit to himself, but even so sam's mind immediately starts rolling through possibilities - is he having a seizure? a heart attack? what would sam even do if those were the actual issues? he's not panicking, but he can feel jaskier's skin growing cold.

they need blankets, they need heat. if his body is losing heat this fast then-

that's when geralt's question breaks through, and sam is looking up and over at him. ]

What? [ magic? what magic? it takes sam a moment to remember he has magic, yes, so geralt's not wrong. but what would it do here? sam's never practiced this before. has never done much of this at all. but geralt asks can you channel and sam's eyes go from geralt to jaskier to ciri, and then back to geralt again. something in the way geralt is looking at him has sam nodding, though it starts off a bit more hesitant than he'd like. ] Maybe? I think so. Yeah. Yeah I can probably channel. Will that help?

[wiedzminka]

[ Ciri has followed Geralt this far in tense silence except when necessary, growing more and more tense as they approach. Her relief upon seeing Jaskier doesn't show much on her face or her rigid posture; she hangs back near the doorway, peering around Sam and then Geralt to glimpse Jaskier's prone body on the bed.

There's a prickle of something, crawling squeamishly down the back of her neck; her fingertips tingle, and Ciri curls them into fists, her breath picking up as she becomes aware of the warmth of magic curling through her, feather-light, leaving her clear-headed and disgusted with herself. The way her stomach drops with queasy realization coincides almost perfectly with Geralt's exclamation.

Ciri watches him rush forward, so visibly worried over Jaskier it makes her heart ache. The exchange with Sam fades to the background for her. She's already stepping back through the open door. ]

I need to leave. I'm sorry.

[gynvael]

[ Geralt takes a deep breath, clearing his head. Trying to. Jaskier is fading, more and more. He can feel it in the way Jaskier's heart is struggling, too fast, and then sluggish.

Ciri's voice slices through the air. Geralt cuts his gaze towards her. His mouth opens. ] Ciri— [ He wants to go after her, or send Sam after her, but he can't, he can't, he needs Sam here, Jaskier needs them both here—and instead, a curse falls from his lips as Ciri vanishes.

He draws all of his attention back to Jaskier. One damn thing at a time.

Will it help. He doesn't know. He truly fucking doesn't. He isn't a mage, he isn't a healer (he can't pull on the magic granted to everyone else), but he thinks it can work. It has to. Whether he believes it himself or not, the nod he gives Sam is firm. Because there is one thing he knows about magic, something that's no different than wielding any other weapon: Sam needs to believe he can do it, and he needs to not hesitate. ]

Something's draining him. Take his hand. [ He lets go of Jaskier's and grasps Sam's arm instead. He does not explain why he needs Sam for this, why he can't do it himself. ] And draw on me.

[falcony]

[ they need to do something, and he can feel the identical tension in geralt as the two of them sit on opposite sides of the bed. sam's eyes dart across jaskier's body, thinking through processes, ideas, what can they even do right now to help? it's moments like this that sam misses his modern world so much, though the reality of the situation is he's not even entirely sure that would help, either.

ciri's voice cuts through, and sam steals a glance back towards her retreating frame, then to geralt - wondering if he's going to go after her, if he needs to. sam's not sure what he can do without geralt, but if ciri is leaving...

oh. sam's eyes dart up to where red is perched, anxious and uncertain, up in the rafters. he gestures to ciri as she leaves, and red - god bless jaskier, and god bless red - takes off after her. sam knows he won't be able to do much, but at least they'll know where she goes. red can alert them if anything too terrible happens, and that is enough of a reassurance that sam's able to turn his attention fully back to jaskier. just for now.

geralt nods back to him, and it does help. it will work. whatever it is, sam is on the same page - he has to believe it does, if it's going to. confidence, determination - he mutters out a soft- ] Oh, fuck me. [ because of course he has to be the one to use magic to make this work. him, of all people, of all these freaking fantasy world-

sam takes a breath, nods firmly in return - mostly for himself, geralt doesn't need convincing. he can't hesitate. he can't do this half-assed. he takes another breath to steady himself, taking jaskier's uninjured hand in his own. there is a brief thought about how just yesterday, just last night, yennefer had been the one taking this hand. squeezing it, stepping in close. sam's hand wraps around jaskier's firmly, settling it in his own. geralt's hand grasps sam's arm and the feeling is, almost surprisingly, grounding. okay. okay he can do this. ]

Right. Okay. [ he doesn't give himself time to think about this all, just adjusts how he's standing to try and...what? open up the channel? sam has no idea what he's doing, not really, but he doesn't allow himself the chance to think about that. about how he doesn't know how any of this works. how geralt is asking him to channel and draw on him and how something is draining jaskier and sam just. settles his mind. adjusts his arm in geralt's grasp so he can turn his hand to wrap around geralt's in return. how, briefly, his hand around jaskier's squeezes, once.

god let this work.

no, not let it. it will.

sam takes a grounding breath, closing his eyes. geralt said to draw on him, to channel his magic into jaskier. that's simple enough, right? draw on whatever it is geralt has to offer and put it in jaskier. sam can do this. he will. and with some final effort to get rid of any other thoughts and just. open the channel. ]

[gynvael]

[ The flutter of wings sits in the back of Geralt's mind. It doesn't ease his concerns, exactly, but at least he knows Ciri's got someone—something—watching out for her. All this shit that's happening at once, he's just glad Sam's on the same page, that Geralt doesn't need to say much about any of it. He watches Sam in return, waiting to see if Sam needs more convincing, more instruction. No questions come so Geralt merely. Waits. (And hopes.)

What he has to offer is just himself, what reserves are inside him. His grip tightens around Sam's hand. The seconds drag on. Then he feel it: a prickling, a warmth. It hums beneath his skin, heated where Sam is holding him. He's not sure if Sam's already realized what Geralt's doing, exactly what he's having Sam transfer over to Jaskier. It's a risk. There's no telling how it'll interact with the hold Ciri's magic still seems to have on him, or that something else might go wrong considering Sam's got even less experience with magic than Jaskier. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Jaskier's heart beats too weak, he won't wake up, Ciri's run off looking utterly devastated, and Geralt's so fucking tired of being the one left standing while everyone else slips away from him.

The room begins to tilt, briefly. He blinks hard, once, staring at Jaskier like he can will him to open his damn eyes already, watching to see if some colour will return to his skin. If his hand will grow warm again. There's not one chance he'll let Sam stop before Jaskier stabilizes, but it's a hell of a good thing he's already kneeling by the bed. He curls his free hand around the frame to steady himself—hopes Sam's either concentrating too hard to notice or that he knows Geralt well enough not to let it dissuade him from continuing. ]

[cointosser]

[There is a moment where everything pauses -- both Ciri's magic still working, and now this new magic. But it is not so much Ciri's disappearance as that her drain is no longer needed, the magic dissipating.

Jaskier takes a deep breath, his body shifting. And then another. A flutter in his heart beat, but then it steadies.

He opens his eyes. Warm, warm hands holding his, and he turns with blurry sight. His last waking moment blurs into the current. Of her holding his hand tightly. What he says barely comes out as a whisper.] How is this happening a second time, Yennefer?

[Him laid out on a bed, slowly slipping back into life. Except she is much softer than the Yennefer back then. Something he still doesn't know how to deal with. Still the same violet eyes. A soft grip. Ah. Did he miss the party?

He blinks again, trying to lift himself with a groan. Oh, gods. His whole body is sore. The last vestiges of his hallucination dissolve, and he is presented with this: Geralt kneeling beside him, tightly holding onto Sam. And Sam, clutching him as if he may slip into a pit at any minute.

His pulse steadies, and when he speaks a second time, his voice is stronger. He reaches for Geralt.] Hello again, old friend.

[If only he had a coin for every time this had happened. He'd only have two coins, but it was insane that it's now happened twice.]

[falcony]

[ it's a sensation both unlike anything sam has ever felt, and yet familiar, in some strange, distant way. because it's not all that dissimilar from flying - the wait, the worry, the uncertainty somewhere in those passing seconds, and then the flooding relief when it catches. when the wind picks up under the wings. sam feels the prickling of something about when geralt does, under the strength of his worried grip around his arm. sam focuses, forces himself to keep focusing. he doesn't really know what he's doing, or what geralt is asking him to do, but the idea of questioning geralt never occurs to sam. he trusts him, in this and most other things, and this moment only really solidifies that fact even further than it's already been.

( and maybe, later, sam will question what lengths geralt will go to in these scenarios. if he should trust him, if it happened again. but - then again - sam has a penchant for picking up the martyring type. it wouldn't be the first and it won't be the last one he'll just need to keep an eye on. )

the feeling of warmth from geralt pricks at sam's skin, and he tugs at the feeling. drawing it along some invisible line that he didn't even know existed, isn't even sure it does actually exist, and pours that warmth into jaskier's cooling hand. he doesn't think about the larger picture, because if he does he knows it'll become too much, he'll get too wrapped up. so, instead, he focuses on the actual act. the pulling from geralt, the pushing into jaskier. sam starts to feel it in time with his own heartbeat, like it's somehow his own heart pumping whatever it is he's pulling from geralt into jaskier's hand.

with his eyes closed, he doesn't catch the unsteadiness in geralt. doesn't notice, either, the first signs of stirring from jaskier. sam - concentrating, continues to pull. continues to push. continues to pull, continues to push. it's not until jaskier is turning, that he's talking, that sam finally lets his eyes open to see. the relief he feels drags one last final push of whatever it is he's been channeling from geralt to jaskier, and then sam is letting go of both, his hands going to jaskier's shoulders to keep him from moving too much. ]

Hey, hey- [ he's not stopping jaskier from reaching for geralt so much as he worries what will happen if he actually tries to sit up. ] Take it easy. [ but he's okay, oh god, it actually worked. sam looks to geralt with a kind of elated expression, then, feeling a bit like a fraying wire - alight, electrified, but worn thin. he wants to grin, wants to laugh, because the idea had worked, it had actually worked. he turns to the witcher expecting to see some version of relief written there, too. except that geralt, on the other hand, looks more exhausted than sam has seen him in ages - a kind of similar color to him as jaskier had been wearing just moments before.

awareness settles into him in those passing moments - of what just happened, of what geralt must have just had sam do.

sam's smile drops, immediately, into another look of concern. he knows jaskier's attention is turned to geralt as well, so it's possible his look goes unnoticed. ]

Geralt?

[gynvael]

[ The instant Sam lets go of him, Geralt pulls his hand away—almost too quickly, like his body instinctively knows how close he was pushing it. Only the smallest flicker crosses his face when he hears Yennefer. He breathes out, reaching for Jaskier without thinking. Old friend. For once, Geralt does not deny the statement nor hide the relief he feels just from hearing Jaskier's voice again. ]

Jaskier. [ His voice is rough. ] Slept long enough, did you?

[ When he turns to look at Sam, the movement leaves his vision blurring for half a second. He swallows down the vertigo threatening to overtake him. Shit. His expression is both unapologetic but also knowing, because he's aware of what he did, knows he hadn't exactly informed Sam of the details, but he isn't human. Not like Sam or Jaskier. He can handle more. ]

I'm fine. [ He pushes to his feet; he's steady, for now. Mostly. ] Watch over him.

[ His palm braces against the wall as he makes his way out—a bit hurried, and not as surefooted as he should be, without looking back. He isn't about to collapse in front of either Jaskier or Sam. Or Ciri for that matter. (Where in the hell did she go?) They don't need to really know. It isn't important; he'll get back up, recover how he always does, and at least this time he's not tipping over out in the middle of nowhere with only his horse for company. Although he isn't certain where he is; there's a hallway, and some flickering candlelight that's too bright up ahead. It makes him squint. He follows it—eventually catches himself on the edge of something. A table, perhaps, or a dresser. He just...needs a second. Two.

He curses. His ears ring. If he stares at the floor, it'll stop spinning. ]

[falcony]

[ sam feels his attention split, tennis matching from jaskier (still on the bed, still pushing into consciousness) and geralt (unsteady as he moves to his feet). at the moments, his hands are still on jaskier's shoulders, keeping him steady and still so as not to overexert himself so quickly, but the second his eyes meet geralt's he knows something is wrong. wrong both in the sense that geralt does not seem surprised by his current state of being, and wrong because it's off - distant, disconnected, slow.

i'm fine he says, and part of sam almost wants to snort at that. watch over him which, for all that geralt meant by it, there is a stubborn refusal to even consider it. in fact, sam is already getting to his feet before geralt even fully gets to the door. he takes just a second to pause, to lean down and guide jaskier's face to his own, making sure jaskier is looking at him and understands when he says - ] Stay here. Do not get up. I will be right back. [ there's enough authority in those words that jaskier could probably feel vaguely threatened by them, if he wanted to. but even in that authority, the relief still bleeds through. a release of one build up of tension. and then sam breaks into a small, secretive sort of smile for a brief second (just for jaskier to see).

the smile disappears almost immediately back into that concerned look from before as sam turns to the door and follows geralt into the living room, moving quickly at first and pulling the door shut behind him. he doesn't want to trouble jaskier who - from his response - is still trying to grasp what is going on. he also, maybe more so, doesn't want jaskir to overhear if what just happened if (which sam can't help be terrified of) this was a bad idea. ] Geralt, wait. What just happened? What did I just do to you? [ it might sound a little disjointed, how that's the first question he asks. but sam feels guilt curling somewhere deep in his gut. feels somehow like he should have known that this would happen, even if he had no real idea what was happening at all.

and then, when geralt probably doesn't respond, or doesn't respond quick enough, sam moves to close the distance, making it to geralt a second later with the help of the table at the side of the room. geralt is more than a little unsteady (he's nearly a walking corpse) and sam's lips purse together thinking about how he assumes he's just going to walk on out of here. he gets a hand on geralt's arm, both to help ground him and keep him from moving any further through the room, giving him a second to himself before he reaches a hand around to steady him further.

part of him braces, as if geralt is going to shove away from the contact - and he's not wrong to have done so. geralt tenses, trying to push back, but sam finds it's actually quite easy to get a hand around him. ] Alright, big guy. Let's take a breather.

[cointosser]

I suppose I did.

[He gives Geralt a smile, not quite knowing the situation, but knowing it makes perfect sense Geralt is here, and he is relieved. Something did happen. Something terrible. To him. The pain is quite evidence of that -- but it's moreso he can tell Geralt is relieved.

Jaskier watches him with his head tilted to the side. It is exactly because Jaskier is trying to gather what is going on -- realizing that his last memory is impossible, because Yennefer is not here and she cannot look like that (is he in Horizon? No, this place isn't Sam's home, and it feels. Different,) that he doesn't argue with Sam's order to stay. Though he doesn't really want to move much because it reignites the soreness, at any other moment he would've enjoyed being held down and told what to do in such a sexy way.

He turns his head only enough to see Geralt slipping away. There is only enough time for him to say,] Geralt is fine. I promise.

[It may sound callous, but it isn't meant to be. Jaskier has seen him so much worse. Knows very well what Geralt in trouble is. He has a sense of... sort of what has happened. The magic in him, in the air, at least. He can feel it. Taste the remnants of a potion still in his mouth.]

[gynvael]

[ If Geralt were not about to keel over, he might've even returned Jaskier's smile. As it is, he's already up, trying to exit.

When Sam catches up to him (of course Sam catches up to him), Geralt isn't thinking when he starts to push Sam off—an animal impulse that does not want to be touched when he's weakened—but Sam's grip does ground him, and his scent is familiar. He lets himself put some of his weight on Sam. The questions register; he simply hasn't got the mind to answer them right now, so he starts towards the couch instead. Likely, he leans too heavily on Sam getting there, but at least they make it and his knees don't buckle. He'll take it.

He collapses onto the couch with a grunt. His head is pounding, and the tips of his fingers tingle. He's cold in a way he almost never is—a deep chill underneath the surface of his skin. He takes a second to close his eyes before he looks back at Sam: focused, for the moment. ]

You haven't done anything to me. [ It bothers him, more than a little, more than it should, that this is Sam's first thought. Like he'd done something wrong. Which he hadn't. Sam did exactly what Geralt needed him to, without hesitation, and he can count on one hand the number of people he can trust to do so. The last thing he wants is Sam regretting that. ] You saved his life. I owe you.

[ Fuck. He's too tired to put effort into staying upright; now that he's sitting, he wants to be vertical altogether. He grapples around the cushions on the couch, knocks a couple to the ground so he can lay back. The truth of it is, it doesn't occur to him that Sam finds his condition alarming to any real extent, and he's too out of it to read Sam how he normally might've. Geralt's been at death's door so often, this isn't anywhere near the worst. He needs sleep, something to eat when he wakes. As long as he's breathing, his body will sort itself out. That's what they made him for. ]

She thinks she did it. [ Geralt doesn't explain; his eyes are already slipping shut. Is Ciri here? He needs to talk to her, and he's worried she's vanished somewhere again. (Like before.) ] Look in on her for me.

[falcony]

[ it's a bit like a failure of expectation - preparing himself for the strength of geralt trying to run away from...whatever this is (emotions, trauma, facing what he almost lost - sam, if he put in the time, could think of a number of things, even if they would be wrong.) and instead finding geralt's grip back on him, his weight shifting towards him, not away. it's not so much that sam can't carry this too, lifting geralt's arm over his shoulder to use the position to better help guide him towards the couch, but it's the principal of the thing. it's realizing that if geralt really can't put up this fight, he's worse off than sam thought. either way, it's not too much, and he doesn't suppose it ever will be, though geralt's feet under him do help matters.

when they make it to the piece of furniture sam has used as his bed for - what is it, months now? and while he tries to set geralt down with any kind of care and gentleness, the weight of him landing hard into the worn into cushions. immediately, sam is moving to unclasp things, to settle geralt into what he is assuming is going to b a deep sleep, grabbing the blankets he keeps under the couch itself and trying to make it more comfortable, when all he can do is focus on just how much colder geralt feels. the weight of his limbs as they moved. his voice, low and scraped gravel, catches sam's attention for just long enough for his eyes to shift - pausing in his quick, hurried tasks. ] You sure about that? Cause you look like shit. More than usual.

[ and that's the thing, isn't it? sam is used to making mistakes. used to making decisions that don't always work out for everyone. but he has to know what he did to fix it, has to be able to name it. but the next words pull a little of that forced humor from his voice, and sam freezes a bit in them as geralt wrestles with the cushions. he's exhausted, pushing forward with a mixture of adrenaline and purpose, but even that combination doesn't keep him from hearing the simple truth in geralt's voice. and when he answers, he kind of want geralt to know he means it. even if his attention is on getting horizontal, more than any sense of exchanged favors.

sam chooses, then, to let that wait - doing his best to grab at the cushions still in geralt's way, tossing a blanket over him whether or not geralt wants it. he's of course still worried, and that vibrating tension does not leave even as geralt gets settled. even as his eyes fall closed.

sam feels himself smile as geralt's tired words almost seem to slur over his last thoughts, asking sam - once again - to check on ciri. to help keep her safe. sam reaches over, tucking another of the comforters over geralt's frame, even if he knows the other man has all but passed out. ]

I'll check up on her. Make sure she makes it back.

[ and then geralt is out. sam hovers for just a minute, maybe a minute more, to make sure his breathing is even. consistent. slowed heartrate or not, sam just needs to know there is a steady rhythm before he can leave. and he does, heading back into the small kitchen area and picking up the food he'd been trying to pull together from earlier.

it's not much - now cool broth, a mug of water, but he carries it with him back into jaskier's room all the same, feeling an oddly familiar sense of shifting reactions, of picking himself up, and when he steps further inside, a bit of that relief from earlier returns as well to find that jaskier had, apparently, stayed in bed. sam smiles a little, not exactly covering up his concern so much as choosing to focus on the fact jaskier - after what he assumes is nearly two days - is finally awake. ]

Hungry?

[cointosser]

[Or is he not? Jaskier doesn't get up but he tries turning towards the doorway. He can only just see Geralt and Sam, and for a moment, he thinks he can see Geralt stumble. Then they're out of his sight.

He lays back down, looking at the roof above. It is not the first time he has woken in a bed, not quite remembering where he was. And then small bits of memories sneaking their way back in.

Jaskier jerks and reaches for his arm. It's there. (He was almost afraid it would be gone.) It's there, and it's whole, but there's... there's something wrong with its shape.

His breathing hitches. He decides not to look at it right now. Like a good patient, he waits for Sam to return. (To explain.) And ever-dependable Sam, as Jaskier has learned, does return soon enough, though the minutes dragged like hours.

Jaskier watches his face carefully, both to read his mood and divine exactly what has happened out of his eyesight. He decides what he sees there, whatever it is, he does not worry too much about Geralt.]

Not really. But, I think, it may behoove me to eat. [He doesn't move, though. A bit of a tease.] Am I allowed to move now, sir? [He takes a breath. It's harder to push out the words than he knows it should be.] I do recall you were quite adamant.

[falcony]

[ when sam makes it back inside he takes a moment to close the door behind him, if only because he does worry - about jaskier, too focused on geralt (even with his insistence geralt was okay) or geralt, upon half-waking up, wanting to come in and check on jaskier. it's a matter of separation, of moving between each space just long enough to get something taken care of.

jaskier's response - coherent, together, complete - has sam smiling just a bit wider. moving to come to the side of the bed he'd spent most of the last night and day before. ] It'd certainly behoove something. [ god, he's never going to get over their vocabulary differences, is he? but even so, it is all said with fondness. a kind of tiredness that is expected, given the last two days.

it's not until jaskier says sir that sam, having been almost distracted by what he should be worried about, looks back. lifts a brow. ] You know, it kind of sounds like you like following orders. [ which, for all that has happened, carries an inflection of that playful flirtations, of an easily curled smile. if it were any other day, sam would probably keep up the tone. the joke. the back and forth. but as it stands, he sets the broth and water down on whatever nightstand might be provided and pulls a chair up to settle next to jaskier's bed. ] Yes, you can sit up. [ and then, because he doesn't think he can put off the question for much longer. ] How do you feel?

[cointosser]

[Surely Jaskier must feel more alive with the teasing tilt of his smile, or he's simply putting that much effort into appearing more alive -- both for Sam and himself. He is very good at moaning and groaning, thank you, and yet he feels strongly that Sam deserves a break.

It cannot be easy having all of them be so... so apparently here.]

Only when the right man gives them.

[He doesn't have it in him for a wiggling eyebrow or a teasing purse of his lips, but it is miraculous that, over a few strained moments, he manages to sit up. His movements are slow and calculated, and Jaskier cannot help but brace for pain in case it moves over him again. There was so much of it. That, at least, he recalls.]

Oh, you were begging to ask, weren't you? [He rubs his face, his eyes closing. He feels... well, with a poet's soul, he feels very much. But the answer comes to him quite simply.] Overwhelmed. [He lowers his hand and turns to Sam.] Yet quite simply alive.

[He knows some time must have passed. If only because he knows what that sort of worry in Geralt's face looked like. And, now, he sees hints of it in Sam.] You must be exhausted as well. Please tell me you're the type to take time for yourself after all this running around.

[falcony]

[ but that’s just the problem, isn’t it? because sam doesn’t mind them here - if anything, the energy of all the bodies and the movement of people here has him feeling more in control, more together. all sam really feels himself worrying about what to do, what he can do, and how he’s going to go about fixing it all.

ciri’s still out there - and while he knows she can’t get too far, not with red watching, it’s still another unaccounted for body. and alina, god alina, sam is already starting to think about how he’s supposed to explain all this to her.

all the same, jaskier’s teasing smile, flirting tone, does wonders for sam’s stress. because yes - either jaskier feels good enough to joke, or at the very least has the energy to put up a front. ]

Didn’t we already talk about this? [ sam recalls a conversation about being mister right, a dance, a front lawn and a gentle kiss in the kitchen. still, he smiles, feels encouraged by it all as he suddenly tenses when jaskier moves to sit - arms at the ready if he needs the help.

when jaskier settles, so does sam, watching with a close eye to see if there’s anything else wrong. anything he catches. ] I bet. [ after all of that, who wouldn’t feel overwhelmed? but it’s when jaskier turns to him, says very much alive the relief and happiness and all together light air to his smile is easy to read. ] And good. It was a close call there for a moment.

[ sam sees a flash of jaskier’s seizing body, the fading color, the irregular heart rate. he still doesn’t quite know what happened, still hasn’t quite pieces together why things happened the way they did, but. they’re better. jaskier is better.

sam snorts at jaskier’s worry, immediately turning to pick up the cup of water, leaning over a bit to hand it to him but not quite letting go - unsure if jaskier will need the help. ] I’m doing better than you, or Geralt, at this point. Plus, exhaustion and I go way back. This is nothing new.

[ sam looks at jaskier, pointedly. drink the water. ]

[cointosser]

Mmm. Maybe.

[As if he's forgotten. It's not the sole reason he recalls reaching for Sam's hand and holding it there, but it certainly was part of it. And now those images are filtering back to him, albeit slowly and, mostly, in a jumble.

He breathes a laugh.] A close call. Is that what it was?

[He feels that's perhaps the boldest euphemism he's heard for a man who was rapidly tearing down death's door, but it's not lost on him that Sam is often careful with his words. A much softer bedside manner than he's ever had with most healers. Even Chireadan, a rarity among even human healers, had been rather gentle with his pronouncement that Jaskier was definitely going to die.

Jaskier had absolutely been about to die. He was not kidding himself. And as much as that thought terrified him, it changed nothing to not believe it, either.]

I don't believe it's quite hard to be doing better than me. Don't brag about it. [He does take the cup, though it's slow and his hands shake a bit, as if he hasn't eaten in -- ah. Days. That would explain it.

He doesn't bring it to his mouth yet. Give him a second to remember he has a body, please.] You know I want to ask. [He turns to meet Sam's pointed gaze. He is so beyond immune to pointed gazes at this point.] What he did. I don't... really remember. Is he all right?

[He'd said Geralt would be -- because Geralt always was -- but now he is worried, a little bit, that Sam brought up his condition at all.

Somehow it brings to mind the wound Geralt came here with. The bite. The one that... should have killed him, too.

Fuck. They were all so very good at almost dying, weren't they?]

[falcony]

It’s what I’m gonna call it.

[ perhaps it was much more. perhaps jaskier may have been at, if not beyond, death’s doorstep. but it doesn’t matter now, knowing that he’s fine. that he’s sitting up, he’s laughing, and even if he looks just a bit too fragile and a bit too weak. ]

I won’t brag if you don’t try and turn the attention back in me. [ sam’s brow lifts, marginally combative, before he’s immediately leaning forward with the cup in hand. he’s gentle, with jaskier. patient. there’s not an inch of him pushing further or faster than he thinks jaskier wants to go.

he sits back only when it’s obvious jaskier has the cup in hand, eyes glancing to the door for a brief moment before letting out a breath. ] He’s passed out, but okay. Stable. [ he’s starting to hate the sound of that word, after today.

sam sighs, arms crossing over her chest. what he did. that’s a damn good question. it’s something sam is still trying to piece together himself. ] Honestly, I have no idea. He mentioned channeling, and that you were being drained, and that I had to take his arm and your hand and just kind of… [ sam gestures. that.

but then, a moment later, sam softens - eyes turning back to jaskier. ] What do you remember?

[cointosser]

[Ouch. Sam's got him there. Especially when Jaskier hardly ever takes a chance to turn attention off of himself.]

Passed out? [He stares at the water, then brings it up slowly to drink. It's odd. Passing out. He only does when he's been injured, to allow his body to heal. He's worried and he isn't, but... gods, it says a lot that Geralt allowed himself to go unconscious. Here. In front of Sam.

To save him. What had he done, though? He remembered the potion. Some of... what he must have seen. Honestly, where the fuck had Sam even gotten that thing?]

Channeling. [He lifts his head.] I think I know. I've read it in one of the books here. [What the fuck had Geralt gone and done that before? He isn't even sure if he'd vaguely mentioned it to him or not. Had he? It was the act of... of sacrifice. Of magic sacrifice.

And Geralt did not have magic. Not like the rest of them.

So that's why. Why Sam was needed.]

He gave his life for me. [It's that simple. That infuriatingly simple. The Witcher that did not like being involved.

Jaskier smiles, and turns to him with a lightness in his chest.] Pleasant dreams. Warm hands. Your charming smile. [He winked.] Much better than the last time this happened.

[falcony]

[ sam nods, glancing out to the door over his shoulder before allowing himself to exhale, stress and tension leaving him with the breath. it's been a long few days, he will admit that easily, but it's finally letting up. ]

I think he was trying to make it out the door. He didn't get far.

[ the potion was another conversation entirely. sam would tell jaskier all about it, if he asked, but it's not that interesting a story. the tunnels, the worm, the stolen crystal. how sam has had this potion tucked away for months, trying to find a moment to use it. this was the right use for it, he knows that; he just never thought it would be with everything else, around it.

when jaskier lifts his head, though, sam's attention comes back to him. ] You read about it here? [ so it's something, at least. something they knew could happen, and wasn't just entirely a risk. except then jaskier says gave his life and sam pauses, just for a moment. because something about the words, about the puzzle pieces of what they could all mean, suddenly feels a lot more dangerous than sam had realized.

but it only lasts for a moment, because then jaskier is smiling, winking, saying things like warm hands and charming smiles. so of course sam finds himself smiling in return, laughing - once - at the idea of all of the danger and magic and fear and pain has a last time. even after just recently brought back from the brink of death, and already jaskier is lightening the mood. lightening sam's mood. ]

Have you thought about not finding yourself in mortal peril?

[cointosser]

That certainly sounds like him.

[He moves the cup slowly in circles, spinning it with small movements of his fingers. The movements with the injured arm feel somehow off, but he cannot quite tell how. It's not pain, really. More like a gentle pulling, like of a strand of hair, deep inside his arm. At the question, Jaskier nods. He did so much reading in Thorne, and now here. Learning the entirety of a world in a few months was quite the undertaking, if you asked him. On top of learning magic.

Luckily he'd always been a good student.

He hums something close to a laugh.] Ah, but unfortunately, it is not I who goes looking for mortal peril. It is completely out of my hands if my friends are so good at nearly sending me to an early grave.

[He thinks with Sam, he understands the lightness of Jaskier's tone -- that he doesn't blame either one of them. And then suddenly, he laughs.] Oh. Like father, like daughter. They've both had their attempt.

[He may be a little loopy still, but there is some sort of cosmic comedy to it. That both Geralt and Ciri have almost killed him. Through no fault of their own. That he may, in the future, already be quite dead. Was Destiny toying with him now? With a man who walked both sides of the grave? Ah, now he understands Hector so much better. That he did not ask the vampires to turn him; he did not want to face eternity. Has a month of this thinking turned him into some sort of realist?

It's much more likely that being so close to death has situated him into a feeling of shock.] I bet you regret tumbling into our terrible little troupe.

[falcony]

[ sam snorts at the snide comment about geralt - barely able to stand, but heading for the door. it does certainly sound like him, but in the same breath, the reality of that moment is also not lost on him, either. that geralt did hesitate once sam had made it to him. how he'd let his weight settle, leaning back against him instead of actually pushing away.

as long as he's sleeping, that's all sam can really ask for at this point.

he's curious about what all jaskier has read. there seems to be so much about magic in this world that sam has barely scratched the surface of, a kind of situation where sam would prefer to remain removed from if he can help it, but the longer he stays the more he realizes he...well. he can't, really, can he? he makes a note to maybe ask jaskier about more of it, later. when he's not loopy with... whatever just happened.

sam's brow arches at the comment, though - curious but unsure if now is really the time. ] Geralt? Really? [ but then sam eases back from that curiosity, if only because he's not entirely sure jaskier wants to talk about the last time he almost died. his tone is still light, though - just as much of that laughter, of the lack of blame - when he speaks. ] Okay, well, have you thought about getting better friends?

[ he can see something cross jaskier's eyes, then - a seriousness, and maybe something else. being that close to death, that shrouded in pain, it puts quite a bit of the world in a different light, and he wonders what it is jaskier's so worried about.

but the thing is - sam can feel himself getting settled, into this spot. a chair next to a bedside, a familiar place for him. but sam also knows that he can't quite get settled, either. he promised geralt he would go after ciri, and he still needs to. red is watching her know, so he knows he has a little time, but he can't get too comfortable. he's not even entirely sure what happened, but he remembers the look on her face, when she'd entered. the way she'd backed away so quickly. it feels a bit like sam is sinking further and further in over his head, but he has to try, doesn't he?

at the question, sam blinks - pulling himself out of his thoughts. ] What? [ then he smiles, laughs a little as a hand runs back over his neck. it feels a bit ridiculous, that he could regret being in this seat, this position, with these people. if anything, this is the first time sam's felt like he's done anything since being pulled through that portal. but how does someone explain that? ] Nah, not even close. [ and even if his words are light, airy and easy, there is a genuine honesty to each and every one of them. sam hasn't even considered anything about this being too much, or anywhere close to something he wouldn't want or somewhere he wouldn't want to be. ]

But you sure keep things interesting, I'll give y'all that.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier smiles, knowing in his way, and then sips the water finally. It took more energy than he wished to use, but it's such a cooling balm, he takes another.] Not his fault, of course. He simply wished for me to be quiet for a spell.

[Okay, that sounds terrible, but he's not in a mind to be really paying attention. Jaskier shakes his head.

No. He hasn't thought about it. His friends are perfectly fine. And as he looks at Sam, he knows that even as the group he considers friends grows wider, the quality has not dropped at all.

With all his complaints, it possibly sounds like Jaskier would not attempt to defend Geralt. But he would be the first to do so, if his character were on trial. Despite his faults -- and they are many, specifically his penchant for being gooey, gory, or sticky -- he is. A good friend.]

You're a glutton for punishment, I see. A regular masochist. [He drains the rest of his water, setting the cup aside.] They may never say it, but we're all very glad you're here. Specifically me, of course. And whatever potion you put in me. I'll have to find a new one to replace it, since apparently we're to be in dire need of potions to bring one back from the brink of death.