[ sam is quite thankful that geralt apparently is in his right mind just enough to wait for sam to get to roach, in his right mind enough to at least try to ease off in the direction where sam is standing. and yes, sam does wait for jaskier to answer - i'm fine, i'll help - before his hands are all but under geralt's, grunting with some effort as the much larger of the three of them slips off the back of roach and lands none too gently. but he does land, still had some consciousness left to keep himself on his feet, so with jaskier under one arm and sam under the other, sam leads them inside and up to his apartment.
he barely even notices the weight, his focus on the blood, on the harbored breathing, on how far they have left to go.
honestly, he had been planning on getting geralt at least to one of the beds - it would give them more room, give them more space to work, for geralt to lay out more comfortably. plus, sam hadn't even taken his things off the couch, blankets and pillows strewn about half-hazardly (he still hasn't been able to bring himself to take one of the rooms, even now). but geralt has, apparently, made up his mind - pushing off just enough to give himself room to collapse onto the couch, trying to hold himself up, and jaskier nearly collapses beside him.
all this really means is that sam doesn't have room to worry about it, because the idea of getting geralt up again is impossible. instead, sam's hands get to work - checking what he can, looking over what he can see. geralt's back is obviously the worst of it, visibly, but he'd noted the limp in geralt's stride. the way his arm trembles where he tries to hold himself up. sam's eyes are checking over geralt when jaskier is talking again, stumbling to his feet, asking for help, and sam's mind is whirring.
wordlessly - sam helps jaskier turn geralt onto his chest to get a better look at his back, and god, god, something in his stomach turns over at it. but sam steels himself all the same, one hand going to jaskier's wrist - making a pointed effort to avoid the injured arm, not needing those memories making their way into the room just yet. ]
Hey- over in the kitchen. There's a box, near the basin. Inside are some bandages, soap, should have needles and thread too. Can you grab it? [ because sam is too much of a boy scout not to have as much of a first aid kit as he can manage in these medieval times. too much of a soldier not to be prepared. as he asks, sam squeezes jaskier's wrist once, glancing towards him and then to where the box is. if any of sam's calming magic seeps from him, it's unintentional on sam's part, before sam's attention is back on geralt and he's rolling up his sleeves and slowly moving to pull away at the ruined bandages, the clothing, whatever it is that is between him and the wound on geralt's back.
the smell of blood is thick, sharp, but sam swallows it back when he reveals the rest of what's happened. jaskier had been right, he'll need stitches, but he'll need a lot more than that, too. ]
Geralt? [ his voice is steady, as if in spite of how the two of them left things. in spite of sam's own tension, before, that right now is nowhere to be felt. as sam's hands start to coat with geralt's blood, trying to get down to the wound itself, to see what all is needed there, his eyes glance up to geralt's face. ] You still here? [ awake, he means. he wishes, again, for modern medicine in any form - anything to help with the pain, to disinfect, to make sure he doesn't put geralt through hell once again just to get it sewn back together.
his voice is suddenly a bit louder, while his eyes are on geralt, the words are meant for jaskier. ] Water too. Should be some over there.
no subject
he barely even notices the weight, his focus on the blood, on the harbored breathing, on how far they have left to go.
honestly, he had been planning on getting geralt at least to one of the beds - it would give them more room, give them more space to work, for geralt to lay out more comfortably. plus, sam hadn't even taken his things off the couch, blankets and pillows strewn about half-hazardly (he still hasn't been able to bring himself to take one of the rooms, even now). but geralt has, apparently, made up his mind - pushing off just enough to give himself room to collapse onto the couch, trying to hold himself up, and jaskier nearly collapses beside him.
all this really means is that sam doesn't have room to worry about it, because the idea of getting geralt up again is impossible. instead, sam's hands get to work - checking what he can, looking over what he can see. geralt's back is obviously the worst of it, visibly, but he'd noted the limp in geralt's stride. the way his arm trembles where he tries to hold himself up. sam's eyes are checking over geralt when jaskier is talking again, stumbling to his feet, asking for help, and sam's mind is whirring.
wordlessly - sam helps jaskier turn geralt onto his chest to get a better look at his back, and god, god, something in his stomach turns over at it. but sam steels himself all the same, one hand going to jaskier's wrist - making a pointed effort to avoid the injured arm, not needing those memories making their way into the room just yet. ]
Hey- over in the kitchen. There's a box, near the basin. Inside are some bandages, soap, should have needles and thread too. Can you grab it? [ because sam is too much of a boy scout not to have as much of a first aid kit as he can manage in these medieval times. too much of a soldier not to be prepared. as he asks, sam squeezes jaskier's wrist once, glancing towards him and then to where the box is. if any of sam's calming magic seeps from him, it's unintentional on sam's part, before sam's attention is back on geralt and he's rolling up his sleeves and slowly moving to pull away at the ruined bandages, the clothing, whatever it is that is between him and the wound on geralt's back.
the smell of blood is thick, sharp, but sam swallows it back when he reveals the rest of what's happened. jaskier had been right, he'll need stitches, but he'll need a lot more than that, too. ]
Geralt? [ his voice is steady, as if in spite of how the two of them left things. in spite of sam's own tension, before, that right now is nowhere to be felt. as sam's hands start to coat with geralt's blood, trying to get down to the wound itself, to see what all is needed there, his eyes glance up to geralt's face. ] You still here? [ awake, he means. he wishes, again, for modern medicine in any form - anything to help with the pain, to disinfect, to make sure he doesn't put geralt through hell once again just to get it sewn back together.
his voice is suddenly a bit louder, while his eyes are on geralt, the words are meant for jaskier. ] Water too. Should be some over there.