abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

Entry tags:

[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

Who: Geralt + the Queen, Yennefer, Various
When: After Nov. 12
Where: Castle Thorne, Nott, Cadens
What: Geralt goes on an Adventure and has a great time
Warnings: Blood, violence, trauma

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[ His fingers curl around the cup. The thought of another healer coming by nearly makes him wince. ] I don't need anyone else jabbing at me.

[ He doesn't mean to sound so curt. It's just—he's tired of being looked over, examined, healed with spells and herbs. He's done it twice and that's plenty. That's enough. He's all right from here. He's not on the brink of death. He can't think of what else a healer can do except wrap him up further, especially with the lack of magic and mages in Cadens, and he doesn't care about preventing lasting scars. What's a few more to him?

Later, he might actually submit to the offer. Right now, all he wants is more sleep and to be left alone. ]

You know I wouldn't take it. [ Yeah. That crystal potion. It's perfectly fine on Jaskier, who does not have a wealth of nightmares in his head. Geralt has no desire to experience a round of hallucinations just to speed up healing a couple of fractures and some open lashes.

His eyes flick towards Sam. They soften a hint. An edge of uncertainty lurks beneath, like he understands things changed and yet—Sam's still here, looking after him past the initial urgency, and he doesn't know what to do with that. ] You've done more than enough.

Not to jab. I was gonna see if they have potions. [ but then sam sees the tightness, the curt response he gives. he watches it for another moment, as if just to make sure it’s really it, before he lets out a long breath and sits back in his chair - deciding, after all that, to give up on the entire point. if geralt says he’s fine, and after all jaskier and he did, he can only hope he’s okay enough to not need it.

at geralt’s response to the crystal, though, sam snorts a little. it’s tired, and a little worn thin, but it’s there. an acknowledgement of how they met, the nightmares of the caves, the shared memories they both took from each other. ] Okay, fair. I still would have tried to give it to you. [ and he’s smiling, just a bit, at the mention of it. the echo of a shared conversation, a shared space. it also means sam’s eyes are on geralt when geralt’s flicker over to him. means he sees the way they barely soften, the uncertainty that underlines the look.

you’ve done more than enough, geralt says, and sam’s eyes drop to the floor between them - the smile dropping away to an uncertain press of his lips. guilt curls away at his gut, tightening, uncomfortable. sam runs a hand along the back of his neck, pulls it over his head. his voice, when he speaks, sounds a bit like sam is trying to laugh, or trying to push one out, even when it falls short. ]

Yeah, well, it never feels like it.

[ never feels like enough, never feels like anything. even when he knows that’s not true, that it means something that geralt is here, at all, but sam still has to work to swallow back the feeling. that he wasn’t there when whatever it was happened, he wasn’t there if it had been bad. that the last time they saw each other, sam hadn’t been able to look him in the eye.

it’d been heavy on his mind for weeks, now. heavy on his chest, his heart. he’d had time to worry, and to process, and to get upset with himself over the fact that he is what brought them to this place.

it’s a few moments later - either of silence, or whatever it is geralt might have filled it with - before sam sits up, specifically looks over to geralt, to get his eyes. there’s a specific look in sam’s eyes when he finds it, a moment of serious consideration before a softening, himself. ]

I’m sorry. [ the words feel heavy, in the air. and then once they’re out there, sam seems to almost deflate, his shoulders falling where he sits. ] For how- for- [ for how i freaked out is what sam means to say, but the words get caught on his tongue. sam presses his mouth together, reconsidering. resetting. ] I’m just sorry.

[ Oh. He forces himself to relax a little. Geralt rubs the corner of his eye. Mm. Maybe one of them can go down to the apothecary tomorrow. He's given little thought to what he's meant to do next. Up until now, he's only looked towards surviving through the night. Now he's here (home), with people he owes answers to. He wishes he could say he didn't, that he could pretend none of them need to know.

He's still contemplating, forgetting for a moment that he's not alone. Then Sam's I'm sorry cuts through the air and he snaps his attention up. His brows knit together.

It says something he's no idea how to react to an apology, to what he senses is guilt from Sam. Acknowledging it feels too much like admitting it'd bothered him, like he'd expected anything else, and he hadn't. Nor can he say he begrudges him. Not really. (But he had wanted different. Hoped for different, perhaps.) He doesn't wish to shrug it off, either, what Sam's saying. He recognizes the sincerity. How rare it is for him it to even be directed towards him. It'd be a lie to claim the gesture doesn't mean something, even if he's unwilling to entirely put into words what that is. ]

You healed well. [ A silent acceptance of Sam's apology. There isn't a lot to discuss. Geralt's willing to put it aside, if Sam is. The heart of the matter is, he likes Sam's company—would prefer to have it again without these unwelcome walls between them. And reliable allies are in short supply, no matter what sphere he's on.

He pauses. ] I didn't want to go to Ciri. How I was last night.

[ It's an explanation, of sorts, for why he ended up at Sam's doorstep despite it all. ]

Edited 2021-12-06 00:59 (UTC)

[ sam doesn't quite realize he's holding his breath until geralt speaks, and the air rushes out of him. it's not exactly what he expects in response, maybe, but it's something. an acceptance, maybe. an acknowledgment, at least. sam will take it, nodding a bit to himself as he finally exhales that breath.

you healed well geralt says, and sam kind of huffs at that. ] None of it was too serious, thanks to you. Not like... [ he gestures towards geralt, to the mess he came back in. it's an elephant in the room, something sam wants to ask about, wants to know the full story, because everything he does know is pieced together through various voices, from julie to jaskier and ciri, from jaskier to sam - but he doesn't ask. he'd known geralt had gotten to nott from the castle, had known that geralt - in this state - somehow got back to the cities. he knows that whatever happened to geralt's back wasn't normal, and if it had anything to do with thorne, magic was definitely involved. but to what extent? for what? it's probably written on his face how much he wants to ask, but he doesn't. doesn't want to push (yet) if geralt doesn't want to offer it. if anything, he'll give it a couple of days.

the explanation he does give is not what sam expects, and sam finds himself wanting to push it off. you're always welcome he wants to say, but knows better. knows that it was a lot more complicated than that, that there was a lot more going on, but still. geralt came. geralt turned to him. that does not go unnoticed, on sam's part, but he figures it doesn't need to be brought up. instead, sam nods. ] With how you looked last night? I don't blame you. [ a beat, and then sam stands - to grab the pitcher for more water for geralt, to stoke the fire. with the apology off his chest, he feels a bit lighter, a bit like there's more he can be busying himself with. ]

She did come by for a minute- after you and Jaskier had passed out. Jaskier must have sent her a message, and she wanted to come check, but she went back to your place to sleep. Wouldn't be surprised if she showed back up in a couple hours.

[ Geralt gives Sam a look that says he knows exactly what Sam means, that there are questions he's yet to answer. He wouldn't have made it back without Nadine and Julie's help. Sam might've seen him exhausted and torn up a bit when he showed up here, but it was nowhere near as bad as when he first stumbled into Nott with most of his wounds untreated and having collected several more through the woods.

He moves slowly, but at least he's moving with less stiffness than yesterday, setting his feet on the ground as he sits up fully. She had? He'd been wondering about that. He'd wanted to tell her he was here, or to tell Jaskier to let her know. Instead, he'd apparently fallen unconscious for a few hours. Shit.

He wants to see Ciri. Not only because they need to talk. He just wants to see her, in front of him, safe. He hasn't even thought about what the hell to do with Yennefer. He's been trying not to think about it. One thing at a time. ]

How is she? [ Ciri, he means. If anything happened to her while he was gone—Sam would have said if that were the case, if there were anything wrong, but that isn't the point. He needs to hear it out loud that she's all right. ]

[ honestly, that is something sam is almost more worried about. that before he even made it to the desert - especially knowing he'd stopped by with julie, and after seeing whatever was left of those stitches - that geralt was much worse. that geralt had been so thoroughly taken down and apart, split open and sewn back. but there's no real point in pushing the matter now, not when geralt very much knows what he's gotten into. what he drug himself out of.

he wants to know, god he wants to know, but sam has officially accepted that information isn't happening tonight. not with how exhausted geralt looks, let alone must feel.

geralt moves, and sam immediately decides he's done with whatever he's doing, turning his attention to the witcher. because even as he moves slowly, carefully, sam's eyes are watching for signs of further pain, of unplanned or surprising pain. sam should have known mention of ciri would get geralt up, and maybe he should have rethought this. but then geralt is asking about her, and sam can almost feel the urge coming off of him - to see her, to find her. ]

Tired. [ sam gives geralt a look that says he knows how tired geralt is, too. ] I'm pretty sure I heard her say something about how she could kill you herself... [ there's a small smile, here, before he gives a shrug. the truth, but offered up to ease the tension in the room, the air. sam knows it's not exactly a laughing matter, any of this, but he tries all the same, crossing his arms over his chest. ] But she's okay- tough, surprising no one. She'll be better once she can come see you for herself. [ she hadn't wanted to leave, and sam almost feels bad for convincing her to - but they all needed rest, and once the relief of being able to see him for herself had set in, sam could see the sam hard lines of exhaustion in ciri as he's seeing in geralt, now. ] Which also means you don't get to do anything stupid until she gets back. After that, she's on her own.

[ there had been some intent to put a little bit of a sharp tone to those words, to try and make it sound even marginally like sam was tired of taking care of them, but it doesn't even get close. doesn't even have a hint of that fake put-out tone he might have tried for. instead, it all just ends up sounding a little soft, a little tired, before he gives a bit of a sigh and steps forward, offering a hand to help geralt to his feet. ]

Come on- either you're getting a bath or you're getting back into the bed. Your choice.

[ He snorts softly to himself. Yeah. He'd wager anything that's what Ciri said. Tired. He'll take tired. He hates that she's worn herself out in a worry, that it's because of him she hasn't got any rest this entire time. But at least she's safe. Feels like that's all he can ask for. For everyone to be safe.

His gaze flicks back to Sam. He doesn't roll his eyes, but there's a sense that he has the urge to. Not that Sam isn't right, it's just. Shit. He knows. He does. He'll stay put and get to bed and not fuck anything else up about his body. As durable as he is, he's nowhere near invincible, and he reached his limits awhile back. He's lucky, frankly, that these are the only injuries he's racked up. Wounds that can be stitched back together, wrapped and bandaged and healed with a bit of magic, some herbs and medicine. It could've easily been so much worse.

(There are other, wounded parts of him that are not so clearly seen, but he's not dwelling. He can't.)

He looks at Sam's hand. Thinks briefly of the last time Sam had not taken his, out there in the desert. Flecks of blood still stain Sam's fingers from when Sam had bandaged him, or sewn him up.

He takes it. One eyebrow lifts, and he pushes to his feet with a sharp inhale. ] You aren't going to carry me there?

[ sam does pick up on the not-eye-roll, does feel the acceptance of the situation in the other man. there is something else, too, that he thinks he might notice going on behind those gold eyes, but he's not one hundred percent sure it isn't just a mixture of pain and potions and whatever else is going on, physically. he files that away for something to keep an eye on, something to check if it's still an issue in twenty-four hours.

( because yes, it could have been much worse. but there can also still be other wounds, other things are not as easily seen. sam knows how this goes, knows how this could get worse if it's not kept in check. )

he does hold out his hand, though, and he does wait for geralt to take it. though it's only when geralt's eyes flick to his hand and there feels to be an almost imperceptible pause that sam gets it - that it hits him like a punch to the gut. the way geralt had offered his own hand, how sam had looked at it, and then away. sam actually flinches at that memory, at his reaction, his part in it, and if geralt notices sam's expression shifts suddenly - guilty, upset, like he's going to apologize again-

but geralt takes his hand. takes it, and let's sam help him to his feet, lifts a brow, makes a joke - and while the feeling isn't gone, necessarily, it's suddenly easier to push down. easier to move through. sam barks out a kind of laugh, his own brow lifting. ] You think I can carry you? That's cute- that's real cute. Yeah, no, but if you make me I will drag your ass to bed. [ except that sam says all of this while he is immediately stepping into geralt's side - a hand out to steady him, if he needs it. tries to kind of guide geralt's arm over his shoulders, for support, because yes - while sam won't carry him, he's definitely there to help. ] If you want to be princess carried you have to give me at least a few months' notice. I have not been weight training enough for you.

[ and because geralt did not answer which means sam gets to make the decision. ] Now let's go, big guy- bed.

[ He leans some of his weight on Sam, though he's steadier on his feet than he was before. If he notices the guilt that keeps flaring up in the other man, he makes no comment. It's not that he wants to ignore how Sam's feeling. He just isn't sure what else to say. He's never made it a secret, who he is, what he is; people can take him or leave him as they will, and if Sam has changed his mind, has decided he wants to be here even with what he now knows, then Geralt will not go out of his way to drive him off. He tried that once with Jaskier already, and he still feels like a bastard for it.

Perhaps he's learning. A little.

His lips twitch. ] I'd like to see it.

[ Geralt doesn't realize he never actually answered Sam's question. He's not entirely awake. When Sam tells him they're going for the bed, he decides not to argue. Bed sounds fine. Great. The couch has been shit for his back, his ribs, his everything. The room's not large, which is for the best. It takes a few steps to reach the bed. He half-drags himself, half-sinks onto the mattress. He's not certain how easy sleep will come now that he isn't pulled under by his body giving out. Doesn't matter. He'll try to get some. He needs it.

Sam does, as well. He wants to tell Sam to go get some damn rest already, that those shadows under his eyes are nearly bruising. Geralt doesn't need to be watched over, anyhow; he's battered, sore, but he isn't dying. He'll recover, given a week or two. But fuck, he's too tired to prod at anyone else to take care of themselves. Probably doesn't have much room to talk, either. He lays gingerly on his side, letting his eyes fall shut instead. He imagines Jaskier will harass Sam when he wakes up later. ]

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[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

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