[Jaskier nods at the question, getting himself to the kitchen. He has a moment where he wonders if Sam is asking him to do it to push him out of the room -- perhaps in fear he's never seen anything so terrible. He has. He's seen worse, too, and perhaps it's not about that at all. He knows Sam's kitchen well (the many meals they've had together, and when he would bring food over, or wine, to surprise him), and he finds the box easily with the supplies Sam's promised inside. A bowl of clean water, a cloth, and a cup of water, too. He balances them all and returns to their side, setting the items down.

He doesn't even know where to fucking start.

Cleaning. Automatic, thoughtless. He soaks the cloth and squeezes the excess out, setting it aside. The box has scissors. Geralt isn't saving this shirt, anyway. He cuts through it, revealing all of his back now.

Fuck.]

Stitched it how? [He stares, and then he does see it. There are stitches, broken but still clinging to his skin. And bandages. Right. Julie. Nadine. They'd done a good job.

And somehow, between there and here, it'd all gotten fucked up. What had he...?]

You work on the stitches. [He shoves the box over to Sam, plucking up the cloth to start scrubbing the blood off so they can see the damn wounds.] I have a healing spell. It won't do much to this, but... if anything's internal. [But no, he had to be a master of plants now, didn't he?] You don't have another of those potions?