abraxaslogs | [ closed ] out in the desert, late one night.

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[ closed ] out in the desert, late one night.

WHO: sam + geralt
WHEN: late may into june (approximately 3ish weeks)
WHERE: the badlands.
WHAT: geralt found something weird out in the desert, and after running it by a few people, he decided to let sam come along with him to help check it out.
WARNINGS: possible violence, weird science stuff (???), some monsters, also will update with more if necessary.

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[ they've been traveling for a few days now, far enough out into the desert that sam can't even see the city walls, and as much as sam is loathe to admit it, there has been a noticeable difference in his stress. he's felt it, even through the simple routine. it's been years since sam's camped like this, longer than he'd like to admit, and the last time he was here he was young, had his squad, and riley was there with him.

now it's him and geralt, and really, it's too easy to find the back and forth of it. traveling, finding shade, sharing rations, easy conversation. geralt knows where it is they're going, and while sam is sure he's used to the easy silence of the trip, sam has no issue filling it. for the first couple of days, it's mostly nonessential conversation, easy chats that geralt does chime into when he feels like it. and it's easy. it's nice. sam feels less and less like he's mirroring an older version of himself.

but it does have sam thinking - about riley, about his time in the service, about afghanistan. it has him thinking, and those thoughts fall back to before. to the memories. to running into geralt in the street and everything he saw. they haven't talked about it yet (he's pretty sure he knows why) but it doesn't stop him from thinking about what it could be that geralt saw, if anything. these thoughts take him through most of their traveling that day, through the chores of setting up camp, cooking dinner, getting settled. they've fallen into something of companionable silence with only the fire for a short while before sam leans back where he's sitting, turns his attention. ]

So. [ he's repacking his bags, which has his hands busy while he speaks. his tone, while curious, is also pretty casual - this is hardly the first 'out of nowhere' conversation they've had and it won't be their last. ]

We haven't really talked about the whole memory thing yet. [ a beat, and then sam looks over to where geralt's settled, brows up.

you gonna make him ask, geralt? ]

Edited 2022-05-30 22:24 (UTC)

[ Out of nowhere conversations have certainly cropped up several times on this journey. Geralt doesn't mind; he travels in silence when left to his own devices, is mostly silent even when Sam does talk, but there are occasional bouts where he can be coaxed into saying more. He tells Sam what monster nests where as they pass by landmarks, offers a story or two.

It's not a trip he'd make with just anyone. Geralt is not human; how he travels, packs, survives, is completely different. He's not interested any old fool who's made camp in the woods for a few days in between towns and considers that enough experience to keep up with him. Sam says he's lived out of the desert for months, longer, during his time in the war. Geralt trusts him. And ultimately, Sam is right: what's out there, Geralt needs someone who knows more about the military and its possible advancements to take a look. Geralt's interest is in what it is, but more significantly, in what it means. Whether there's something active going on that they need to be careful of. If it would be safer to bury what they find and never speak of it to anyone.

He's well aware of the eras of humans fucking about with mutating monsters and men on the Continent. Nearly destroying themselves with it. He doesn't need it happening here, too.

The main difference between when he travels alone and when he's with Sam is that Geralt tends to take shelter during the hot afternoons, then move during sundown to dawn. Early morning at the latest. Avoids the sweltering sun. But Sam can't see with only a sliver of moonlight to guide his way; moving with torches will attract unwanted attention from bandits and beasts alike. Geralt's accepted making camp at night and putting up with the fucking heat. He hunts frequently, preferring to stretch their rations for if game grows scarce or something unexpected befalls them. Anything from lizards to desert hares to boars are a viable meal. They all go on a stick and he roasts them exactly the same way. Sometimes they go into a stew pot. If there's any desire for more variety than that, it's up to Sam to provide.

Tonight, sticks it is. He's settled back under the makeshift shelter of woven leaves and branches that they've propped up to keep out the dust. He pops a cube of meat into his mouth and chews in Sam's direction. ]

We haven't. [ Yeah. He's going to make you ask. ]

Edited 2022-05-30 23:33 (UTC)

[ sam likes to think of himself as a new source of conversation for geralt. if only because it gives roach a break (for now) and lets geralt talk to someone who talks back. they've at the very least seemed to find a comfortable middle ground of easy silence and some back and forth. granted, sam can't say he's surprised - it has become something he can expect, the easy silence, the comfortable falling in of steps. it comes from time spent over months and conversations had and the general feeling of being around someone enough to build habits. routines. expectations.

sam hasn't gone hunting with geralt since that first trip out with the bandits, but that had been months ago (what almost feels like a lifetime). and this was much different.

in knowing they were coming out here for a reason, for something that could potentially shift some understanding of the cities they're in, it paints all this in a different light. there's a seriousness to it that sam might have otherwise tried to lighten. there was more to this, and while sam was far from grave, there is definitely something almost professional that has settled under it all. he's also very aware that his presence here has changed things, particularly in speed and schedule, so sam makes sure to pull his weight where he can.

so far, that has been particularly in the area of food, as he's just finished packing away his supplies that he'd pulled out for dinner. geralt is propped back under the shelter, eating at some of the meat, and gives sam a blank stare.

yes, well, apparently he is going to make sam ask. sam sighs, eyes back on the items in hand. ] You trying to actively avoid it? Or are you down to talk about it?

Edited (the icon was way too intense) 2022-05-31 21:58 (UTC)

[ Geralt sighs, too. The real answer is yes. He's avoiding it. And if it were only about him, he'd have said as much. His past, it's—people knowing is one thing. Having to talk of it is another. But this could affect Ciri and beyond that, he saw something of Sam's, too. He owes Sam to at least tell him what it is.

It's just that, that one had hit close to home, too. After Eskel. After Voleth Meir. Sometimes it feels too much like the blood is on his hands. He doesn't regret his decisions. It needed to be done. The weight of it doesn't change, though.

He tosses Sam one of the sheathed knives they'd used to butcher the meat. Cleaned and put away, ready for Sam's current task. While he hadn't had doubts of Sam's capability, it's still good to know Geralt isn't wrong to trust him along. It's one of those things people don't think about—but for someone who lives out of a bag, who often needs to know where something is in an instant, packing up your belongings exactly the same way every time makes a difference. He'd shown Sam where his equipment went before they left, Sam had shown Geralt his, and that's how it's all gone back in since.

It's another second or two. Eventually, he nods. ]

Ask what you will.

[ it's why sam asks at all - because he knows there is more here to talk about, but he's not here to belabor a point that geralt doesn't see reason to touch on. he's picked up enough about geralt's processing, enough about how he handles these kinds of conversations, to at least think he might know when to actually let it slide. to know what reactions to his pushing mean it's fine or don't.

but also sam knows that outside of his own curiosity, outside of whatever memory it is that geralt's seen, there's more to this. more than just the memory he'd seen of geralt's. of a dingy town, of a young girl and a woman, of an older man and mentions of an eclipse and then the market. sam catches the knife geralt tosses to him, packing it away alongside the rest of their gear. it's an older habit, driven into him from years in the military, but it works with geralt too. to know exactly where everything goes. to know what place, and in what way, it needed to be packed. then, the routine had been comforting to sam, and now it's ding a lot of the same.

ask what you will. there's no undertone of tension, so sam nods. takes a moment to think about what it is he does want to ask. figures that the best place to start is - ]

How long ago was Blaviken?

[ His expression flickers. Blaviken. So that's what Sam saw. Could be worse, could be better. Blaviken is an old wound.

He can't help thinking of Sam not quite looking at him, though. After their first trip into the desert. A short one, then. Bodies on the ground. He knows it isn't the same now, that Sam's come to understand him better. It is not something he tends to seek from others—to be understood—but he can acknowledge Sam's different. Sam occupies a space in his life where it suddenly feels important that he is. ]

Few decades. [ He puts the skewer into the fire when it's finished, stokes the flames. While nighttime temperatures don't drop so low anymore now that spring is edging into summer, a light is still worth having for Sam. It took Geralt a bit to gauge the climate, how it works out here; the more he learns the land, though, the more he doesn't quite mind it so much. The thick forests and snowy peaks will always feel most at home for him, but the desert has more to offer than it seems at first glance. ] Before I met Jaskier. I was young.

[ It's said like a jest. It is, and it isn't. Seventy is hardly young where mortal years are concerned. But he looks back, twenty, thirty years later and fuck, he was, wasn't he? Young. A sprawling set of years and seasons worth of lessons ahead of him he never thought he needed to learn. ]

[ sam catches the flickering of his expression, and whether or not it's to do with the memory itself, or their last time out here in the desert, sam isn't sure. and it's true - there is a distinct curl of guilt in sam's gut when he thinks back to it, to the images of the way those people had looked at geralt in the square, had thrown those rocks, the girl. sam doesn't know what he would have done if his own face had fallen in line somewhere in that flash, but he knows it would have been justified.

he knows they are somewhere else, now, where it comes to each other. to this bond that they've been working on since the tunnels. sam knows enough about geralt too to not let his own feelings of guilt linger, to push through the feeling, because that's not helping either of them.

i was young he says, and sam can't help the small snort that escapes him. a few decades. it's partially because he knows that geralt had said it in jest, too. ] Yeah, you really looked like a kid. It's the eyes. You just full of youthful wonder. [ still in jest, still joking, as sam finishes up with the pack and sets it aside. sits back a bit where he's leaned up against their makeshift structure, their home for the night. sam's eyes are on the fire for a few moments, in thought, before he crosses his arms over the front of his chest. gets comfortable.

the girl in the woods will be with you always. she is your destiny.

sam thinks about the flashes he'd seen when he brushed against ciri in that hallway, the screams, the blood, the woods. he takes a breath. ]

And that prophecy- it was about Ciri, wasn't it.

[ His lips curl ever so faintly before it fades. For a split second, Geralt thinks Sam means Ithlinne's prophecy. He blinks once, before—

The girl in the woods.

Of course. Renfri. He watches a grasshopper bounce across the rocky ground and buzz away through the thicket of short wide trees. What does he want to say? More precisely, how much? It isn't a matter of trust. But the entire circumstances surrounding Ciri—fuck, he hardly understands himself. What it means that Renfri foretold it. Because—does that make Visenna right? To have left him with the Witchers? (Had Destiny told her not to ever come looking for him, either?)

Only when Sam's settled in with him does Geralt's answer come. ]

Yes. [ He rests his arms on his knees. ] You must've asked yourself why of all the princesses and orphans on the Continent, it was Ciri I searched for. Cirilla is...what they call a Child Surprise. Promised to me by her father before she was born. I had no intention of claiming her then. She had a family, a kingdom. I left Cintra that night and swore I'd never return.

[ And he had not. For over a decade, he went nowhere near Cintra. He doesn't know if he was right or not. He only knows at the time, the idea of taking away the child of a royal family to—do what. Wander the Continent alongside him as he slaughtered monsters? Live in the frozen broken fortress surrounded by Witchers and frost? It sounded absurd at best, cruel at worst. ]

Edited 2022-06-04 23:03 (UTC)

[ sam waits, this time, rather than easing over whatever hesitation he almost sees in geralt's face. or, maybe it's not hesitation at all. he gets comfortable and he waits, not necessarily because he thinks there are going to be any huge revelations, but just because he knows he is toeing at an understood acceptance between them. that there is something else going on - with ciri, with her power, with the singularity (sam thinks, but he's not sure) - and it has been something sam's been pretty okay to let lie.

he doesn't need reasons to want to help. doesn't need explanations to protect the people he cares about. hasn't for over a year now. but those images, the echoing of ciri's scream. if geralt really doesn't want to touch on any of it, sam won't push it, but he does think it's only fair to let him know. geralt rests his hands on his knees, says what they call a child of surprise and sam does have questions, a lot of questions, but then geralt says i left cintra and swore i'd never return and then he pieces it together.

cintra, that had been the castle in ciri's memories. burning to the ground, soldiers in black armor everywhere, ciri's scream. sam's eyes go to the fire between them, just for a moment, before letting out a breath. ]

But then Cintra fell, right? [ whether or not geralt reacts to that, sam will look up and over at his friend, his jaw tight, expression serious, before he lets out a breath that sounds a lot like a sigh. ]

I bumped into Ciri when everything was happening. [ everything. sam's pretty sure he's going to have echoes of those headaches for months to come, but it does appear to have settled somewhat. ]

[ The reality is, where Sam and a small handful of others close to him are concerned, Geralt has not gone out of his way to pretend that there's something he isn't saying, something about Ciri he isn't protecting. If Sam were to ever ask, he'd have simply acknowledged that he was, that it isn't information he's willing to divulge. Sam's just never pressed for an open answer. Geralt can appreciate that.

He gives a nod. Then Cintra fell. He senses that isn't all Sam wants to say, though. In fact, he'd gone into this conversation presuming Sam would ask about Blaviken itself. Renfri. And yet so far, Sam's been asking after Ciri—and when Sam finally says that he bumped into Ciri, realization crosses Geralt's face.

His eyes fix on Sam. He trusts Sam. He does. But it is a very different thing, too, when it comes to Ciri. It isn't just a matter of trust. These are secrets empires and beings across realms have killed thousands for. He made the decision to tell Jaskier, and even now, he isn't certain if it was the right one. Jaskier's already paid the price once, for merely knowing of he and Ciri. ]

What did you see?

[ it's part of the reason sam never bothered to ask - he knows when a secret is meant to be kept, knows when someone you trust and hold close won't open up about everything. it doesn't bother him, hasn't before and hasn't since, but it's also why he kind of...glazes over blaviken.

because he knows where it concerns ciri that this is important. important to geralt, just as it had been important to ciri when it happened. sam doesn't know why, or how, or where any of it fits, but he does know that there'd been a reason he hadn't known before now. and if the singularity was going to force any part of that information to be shared, geralt should probably know, too. ]

A lot of it was flashes, more like bits and pieces than a specific moment. [ he tries to think back, to collate everything it was that he'd gotten flashes of. ] I saw her being taken from Cintra after it fell, a man in a feathered helmet. Her screams. An entire camp was burning and there were monsters trying to get at her... [ blood. blood and ashes. sam takes another breath as his eyes go to the fire again. ] I watched as a bunch of boys tried to attack her and I saw a bunch of monsters try to reach for her and then I watched her scream and rip them to shreds. And I saw you, but your eyes... [ black, black veins, blood in the snow. sam stills for a moment as he tries to think, if there's more he should say or if geralt already knew all of that.

then sam thinks of ciri, still and tense in his apartment.

( and whether or not it means anything to geralt, sam thinks of wanda. wanda with magic she couldn't control, wanda who was just a kid. wanda, who made mistakes and who everyone turned to and who didn't mean anything by it. it tightens uncomfortably in his chest. )

that's when sam shrugs, because for all the blood and gore and fear he'd seen there, he also saw ciri. a girl. running for her life. ]

She's pretty damn powerful, isn't she?

[ Geralt is silent while Sam explains. These are not actually memories Geralt holds. They're Ciri's—from before he ever met her, ever took her in. But he knows exactly what Sam is referring to.

He also knows Sam can't grasp the full implications of what it means. For the best. Her power is one thing. But this world contains plenty of those with power. It's what she can do with it that he's been protecting. Because as far as he knows, no matter how much power, the people of this sphere are neither capable of destroying the Singularity nor opening up gateways to the other side. Things he's aware the territories could well desire.

He nods. Yeah. She is. He doesn't explain about his eyes, her abilities, who the man pursuing her is. It isn't important. Finds no reason to tell Sam to keep it between them, either. It needn't be said. ]

Half the Continent wants her. For her title, her chaos. I won't let it happen here, too.

[ It's hard to say still how much the kingdoms know. They know something, about each of them. The question is what. Thorne took him because of his connection to Yennefer. But part of him wonders if there were things they suspected about Ciri, as well. The thought sits uneasy within him. ]

Edited 2022-06-19 19:52 (UTC)

[ sam hadn't seen geralt in any of those memories save for the last one glimpse of those black eyes and veins, so there is a larger part of him that doesn't think geralt even knows what he's talking about. and it is true - sam doesn't really know what it is he's seen. but he does know it's related to things he hasn't seen, things he's aware haven't been shared.

he also knows that when geralt does speak - when he nods, yeah, she is. when he doesn't explain his eyes, or what he was doing there. when he doesn't provide any other information. sam has spent the last few years of his life existing in that space, without knowing everything, but knowing enough. he looks at geralt now and realizes just how much of that is true. of what he feels, of what is happening here - that he doesn't need to know the whole story, and while what he's seen has been more than geralt probably had any intention of sharing, it is enough.

ciri. geralt's protective nature. this. sam doesn't know what the pieces mean, but he does know he has the pieces. so he finds himself simply nodding back. ]

You know I'm here if you ever need it. [ because for all that geralt might know, sam feels better saying it. just so it's stated. because sam didn't know half of this, back in thorne. and even then it had been about getting ciri out, getting ciri safe. and no matter how much time has passed, he realizes this is still the same, now. ]

Do you really think they'll want here here, too?

[ If Sam were to ask more, Geralt might very well have granted further details. Sam does not, and Geralt simply acknowledges the offer by adding more wood into the fire. Sparks pop.

He trusts Sam. To be there. That will never be in question. ]

I do. [ He doesn't expand on that, either. She might be the key to unlocking the Summoned's path home. She might be the key to getting the Abraxans off this world that some perhaps may have come to believe is being consumed by the Singularity. She may hold the power to feed the Singularity itself, alone.

It matters not if none of these things may be true or possible. The moment anyone has cause to believe it is, they will want her. That's all it's ever been. People who see in her a tool to use or sacrifice, based on prophecies and bloodlines. She's more than that.

He tosses another piece of wood in. A few minutes pass, his thoughts turning to another topic he'd meant to bring up before they began speaking of Ciri. ]

When we passed one another that day. I saw...you. Your friend Riley. [ He pauses. It's an old wound, he knows. But old wounds can open anew. ] I'm sorry.

[ For what happened, he means. ]

Edited 2022-06-26 01:58 (UTC)

[ and maybe he should. ask more, get more information, anything. there is so much about this that sam does not understand, not fully. but the thing is, he doesn't know if he would even if he had the full story. and they're definitely not solving it tonight. so instead, sam takes the information for what it is - acknowledgement that he does know, and that if it comes up, if he has questions, geralt will be there to answer them.

so when geralt says i do, sam nods, once, because that's all he really needs to know. that's all that there really needs to be known.

( there is a little of this, here, that sam knows well. it's the same feeling as opening his door to a stranger and a guy he met on a run. it's the feeling of saying tell me where you need me and going there. it's the shake of his head, turning down other missions, just to keep in step. )

for now, sam watches the fire and is pretty okay if that is where the conversation ends. if the rest of the evening just sort of evens out. because that is where he is, he's a bit more surprised when geralt speaks up. surprised even more by what he says. you. your friend riley.

ah.

there is a moment, briefly, where sam just stills. it happens every now and then, no matter how much therapy and how much processing and how much he thinks he has moved on. moments where it just hurts, just for a breath. but then sam gives a small half-smile. ]

Ah- yeah. That's... [ a beat, and then sam huffs out a breath. not quite a laugh, but not quite a sigh, either. ] Well, I guess you saw it. [ the apology is something that sam isn't, momentarily, sure what to do with. he knows what is habit, what he's used to. a smile, a nod, a heartfelt acceptance and understanding. but it feels a little...not insincere, exactly, but off. ]

Thanks. It was a long time ago, but he was a good man.

[ Off. Yes. Geralt recognizes it, that pause and a vague it was a long time ago. When the memories are not quite healed, but as healed as you could hope for and there isn't much left to add. Not much left to offer. ]

Yeah. [ His reply is quiet, acknowledging the remark without asking. He didn't bring it up to pry. He hasn't got questions about it or anything he needs to know. He only wanted to tell Sam he saw it, that there's a personal memory they share between them now.

Funny. Isn't that how it begun between them? Down in the tunnels, assaulted by shared visions neither of them asked for. Sam had been little more than a stranger then. Now they're here, a fucking year later, and he can say Sam is the closest friend he has in this sphere not from his home.

For awhile, he watches the fire crackle. As is often the case with him, conversation wanes quickly for lengths at a time. But eventually, he seems to find the words to add what else is on his mind. ]

I know I've said little about Ciri. [ He leans his head back. It is not an apology. Not really. ] I appreciate you not asking.

[ and sam is appreciative of it. he knows geralt's not saying it to pry, and chances are he won't have anything to follow up with it. but he likes knowing - knowing what is there, what is shared between them. he didn't bring it up like he did with steve, way back when, because there hadn't been a need for the connection. an explanation of how he understood, he knew, because he lost his wingman while serving. but now, with it shared between them, sam knows that geralt understands. knows it without having to say much at all.

yeah he says, and sam's smile lingers. he nods. yeah. yeah.

it is not lost on sam that this is where they started, on where they've ended up. on the tunnels and the visions and the lack of boundaries due to magical interference. sam wishes this hadn't been how they got here, wishes neither of them had to deal with it at all and could have just started out organically. but he also knows that isn't the way life generally works, and he wouldn't change anything about this for the world.

sam is at the point he would have been pretty okay to let the moment fall into companionable silence when geralt speaks up with his not apology, not thanks. for in the end, sam just sort of huffs a laugh. ] Of course. I understand wanting to keep her safe, and if that gets out... [ sam shrugs. ] I guess what I'm saying is that I knew you had it handled. And if I needed to know, you'd let me know. [ a beat, and then sam shifts. gets more comfortable. ] And I don't need to know everything to help.

[ Has he got it handled? Geralt wants to believe he does. In a sense, he needs to believe he does because experience has taught him nothing is more dangerous than a plague of self-doubt, than hesitating too much for too long because you aren't sure. Nothing in this world is ever for certain. They just make the choices they can in the moment.

Lately, he's started to think perhaps Sam does need to know. If there are ever signs that the Hunt might be a threat, that something else out there is after Ciri—

He'll tell him. Until then, Sam has enough on his mind. He appreciates Sam's help, knows Sam will be there to back him up. But it doesn't mean he wants to take advantage merely because the offer's there. Sam's done a lot for him as it is.

He nods. Settles back. The stars shine against the clear night sky. In theory, they take turns on watch, but Geralt needs less rest than Sam. And he never sleeps well, anyhow. ] Get some sleep.

[ Reaching the cave takes not much longer than Geralt's last trip out. Quicker, when he knows the direct path now, and Sam keeps pace with him well enough. He waits until just before dawn before they set out on the last leg towards the cave—leaves their horses behind a distance back. He isn't too worried about tracks; bandits and merchants and other hunters pass through aplenty. The way the cave's laid out, it doesn't look as though it's making any real attempt to be hidden so much as overlooked. Something one might glance in at and then choose to move on.

Scattered at the base, half-buried beneath the dust and rocks and dried grass, are a few other remains not unlike the hand he'd brought back: elongated bones, metal plates, teeth marks.

He steps around them, ducks under the rocky overhang. Then he pulls out the explosives. Charges. They're not as he expected: malleable, not near as delicate as he'd have thought, and simple to carry. Viktor's explained how to use them, but Sam seems to actually recognize them—just more rudimentary, apparently—so it's Sam that he hands them over to. He'd asked Viktor to err on the side of caution. He'd rather have to pull out some rubble than bring the whole thing down. ]

I'll go in first.

[ sam has done his best to keep up, and in all honesty, it hasn't been extraordinarily hard. the fact geralt knows exactly where it is they're going and how to get there means that all sam really has to do is keep in step, and whether or not it's because geralt has been aware of sam or just the fact that sam is used to keeping up with super-powered humans anyway, they're pretty evenly matched.

which means that they get to the cave a little faster than sam had expected. he waits for geralt's lead here, too, following in step behind him as they leave their mounts a bit of a ways off and step around the bones left out at the mouth of it. sam eyes them as they step around, that uncertain, uncomfortable feeling he'd had back when geralt first asked him about them returning full force.

when geralt hands him the explosives, sam just nods. he does recognize them, though they're a lot closer to the sort he'd used during his time in the military rather than the stark-tech ones that had been part of his equipment as falcon. thankfully he'd also been there when viktor had explained his process, just to err on the side of caution. ]

Works for me.

[ because here's the thing - sam's not looking to do anything stupid out here. it's an exploratory mission more than anything - see what's happening, get the rubble out of the way, make sure there isn't anything more weird down here than originally thought. he'll side with geralt's reason, especially considering he's already done most of the pre-work and seems to know where he's going. ]

Lead the way.

[ He steps back to let Sam complete the process. Watches their surrounding areas to make sure the noise won't attract too much attention, from bandits or otherwise. Sound travels in the wilds, but people out here are equally willing to ignore shit that isn't their business.

It works. The rubble falls, and Aard takes are of the rest as the force topples the remaining rocks and broken, clinging door that block the path. Geralt goes in first, as he says: sniffs the air, to see if he can smell anything off. There isn't. Just dust, dried blood, mildew. Animal droppings, a rotting carcass or two of some rodent or other. He wanders in further, scans the ceiling. Perhaps he's being more cautious than usual, but. This is normally something he'd do alone. Geralt knows what he can handle, what he's built for. He still doesn't like it, that Sam's here. He agreed. He knows he needs Sam. It's just...

He shakes it off. Keeps scouting the interior. Equipment, rusted and old. Whatever faint acrid smell was there the first time, it's gone now, too. Probably dispersed when his first attempts to break through put a few holes in the caved-in debris. He can't see any strange signs. Rats scurry, a snake's tail rattles. There's the flap of bats and birds. If there were anything dangerous lurking within, this place would be silent. Only bones and death and flies. But wildlife's nested inside and around the area.

He hesitates only a moment longer. Then he emerges from the cave. Tips his head to gesture for Sam to join him. ]

[ sam does as geralt directs, sets off the device and watches as the wall to the cave crumbles and falls away. the bomb viktor had built for this worked, pretty perfectly, so much so that sam starts to wonder where along this process things are going to go wrong. which is a thought sam immediately cuts off as soon as it appears, not wanting to jinx them.

he waits as geralt disappears inside the mouth of the cave, his eyes on the desert around them, his mind on the steps they laid out, his attention evenly spread across everything he's keeping track of. it's not until a moment or two later that geralt emerges that sam actually really feels himself breathe again, mentally checking off the box as he stands up from his position and moves, carefully but not awkwardly, to join geralt inside the mouth of the cave.

once he's inside, it's his own turn to take a look around, cataloguing everything geralt's already seen. he assumes there is probably more - things geralt can sense, or smell, or just knows - so before sam continues on, he just looks at geralt instead. lifts his brow in silent question - find anything? ]

[ Geralt shakes his head. Not a No so much as a Not yet. At a glance, there appears to be nothing worth noting. Old equipment. Rusted, crumbling. A few more scattered bones of the same variety, but those are equally desiccated.

Only when he goes a little further does he see something that catches his attention. He holds out a hand to stop Sam from stepping on it.

It's small. A broken edge of metal. It's old. Not as heavily rusted as the rest of what's here. Hmm.

He crouches down beside it, looking up at Sam with one eyebrow raised. He has his own suspicions about what this might mean—that between the caved in rocks, the buried equipment and bones, this place was not meant to be found and not meant to be revisited—but he wants to hear what Sam thinks first before he says anything. ]

[ sam follows behind geralt's footsteps, not so closely as to invade his space, but close enough do as to not disturb anything else. when entering a space that they don't know what they're looking to find, sam has gotten used to the careful nature of it. of knowing where to step, of what is important not to disturb. it's something nat had taught him, that years on the run had taught him, and now?

now, his eyes scan the place around them, the sand and the equipment, the things geralt had told him to expect. they keep moving, trying to find anything out of place, and he catches something right on his periphery. geralt moves, and sam looks back to him, watches him inspect a piece of metal that isn't nearly as rusted as it should be, given what they know of the time period of what they're dealing with here.

sam's frown furrows as he lean closer, his eyes turning back to geralt with an expression of confusion - explicitly, that the metal is wrong. different from what they've found. and then, once that message is sent, sam turns his head to a little further away, points towards what appears to be a scrap of fabric caught on an older, broken piece of what might have been a crate, maybe a piece of mining equipment. something that doesn't look like it belongs.

his brow lifts back, a mirror image of geralt. that doesn't belong, right? ]

[ Yeah. It doesn't belong. It's off. There are faint footprints, too—old, not fresh, and overlayed with tracks from animals. But perhaps not as old as they should be. It's hard to say. Footprints left behind in a sealed cave aren't the same as a trail in the open.

The whistle of wind is what catches his attention. He wanders further. Far enough the sunlight barely reaches. His eyes can see fine, though—and here, it's another solid wall of rock. Not crumbling like the one they'd taken apart. This is more. Thicker.

He inhales. The air that comes through is stale, but he can't smell anything. Can't hear anything, either. It's silent. No blood, no unusual scent. The scraps of cloth, bits of metal—it confirms that someone must have moved these bones, buried them deliberately, but that's all there is. He can't find any signs of fresh blood. Not even a rotting human corpse. These bones have been chewed and eaten for some time.

He shakes his head at Sam. For him? This is what he'd call a dead end.

Perhaps that's for the best. His hope certainly was not to find something active and dangerous. ]

[ sam's mind is already piecing together what it is they've found. cloth that isn't old enough, a broken piece of equipment that is not nearly close. there is too much here, too many clues pointing to the fact this place is not nearly as undisturbed or abandoned as someone had tried to make them believe.

geralt continues on, and sam sticks as close as he can, even as the light starts to fade the further from the entrance they move. he knows that it's no bother for geralt, that the lack of light and the damp air of the cave are barely deterrents for his heightened senses, so he'll depend on this expertise.

which is why, when geralt shakes his head at him, sam knows he's going to trust that. knows that there isn't much else he can do. even still, sam feels himself stare at the stone wall, take a deep breath as he tries to swallow back that unsettling feeling in his gut. something is here, he knows it, but there doesn't seem to be much more than can do now.

maybe if they come back, maybe if there were more of them. sam, not quite defeated but something close, nods. alright. ]

[ More evident perhaps than even when Geralt stayed with Sam in his home, is how little Geralt truly sleeps. And how restless that sleep is when he finally manages to grasp a handful. He blames some of it on that fucking fright Ciri gave him by going missing, why his dreams have been haunted by visions of her death. Running, searching for her only to find nothing but her body.

They aren't new images, though. He's had these dreams dozens of times. So he says nothing of it, barely notices the bruises and cuts and dried blood that appear on his arms, his hands. Why would he? He's been travelling for weeks in the desert, hunting and trawling through jagged rocky caves and cliffs. Would've struck him as odd if he hadn't racked up a number of minor scrapes.

On the fifth day, he finally sees it. A flicker of a wolf that appears in the distance, between the trees. A white wolf, teeth stained red. Every time he blinks, it vanishes. There are no white wolves here, in the desert.

It leaves him uneasy that night. He thinks of Julie's message, of what Jayce told him. Asks Sam if anything unusual has come up. He's aware Sam's said he's feeling off, but that it isn't anything to worry about. Geralt takes Sam's word for it.

If they were further out, he might have contacted Jaskier to ask, too. Ciri. But they'll reach the city soon. Less than three days.

He stokes the fire, cleans up the bones of their meal. Seals up the cave they've taken shelter in for the night. At Sam's insistence, he relents. Tries to get some sleep.

The blood that seeps from underneath him does not wake him. It pools sticky against the cavern floor, a wound that's split open along the thick scar that traces over his chest and stomach. Spreads towards the smouldering fire. ]

Edited 2022-06-22 21:46 (UTC)

[ they've been on this trip for long enough for sam to have picked up on geralt's more routine habits. that, plus the addition of their now more than a year together, he is either entirely aware of geralt's sleeping habits, or at the very least not surprised by them. and sam's no stranger to insomnia, to the ongoing tension that comes with travel, with the memories the desert holds for him. what they found in that cave is hardly good news, and sam can't stop himself from thinking it over. what it means, what it could be, why there would be so many lies all tucked away in this one place.

which is a long-winded way of saying that even on his best day, with all this information, sam wouldn't be sleeping well. geralt's not sleeping, sam has noticed that, if only because despite his own exhaustion he's also not sleeping much himself. and god, he wish he could figure out why - it's a day or so out of the cave that he's first noticed it, odd aches that even at his age he shouldn't be dealing with just yet, and a headache that never quite went away. normally, he'd have shrugged it off, but as they continued to travel it only seemed to get worse. slight aches turn to full body, joint pain, losing feeling in his hands and feet but with no real association. sam's able to shoulder through it well enough at first (lord knows he's lived through worse), but it's days later (five? six maybe?) that things have only continued to worsen.

geralt's noticed by then, too, despite how much sam tries to shoulder through. he tells him he's feeling off, but that it's fine - he'll get it checked out when they're back in cadens, since they're only a couple days out. and sam can handle this for a couple more days. he knows his limits, he knows that this isn't good, but it's not dire. just three more days.

they go about their night with relative ease - sam struggles a bit more than he did at the beginning, but it's fine. it really is. he also knows geralt's not been getting much sleep over the last few nights either, which is what pushes him to insist, to push, because he can take this first watch. geralt needs to get some sleep too. they're just a couple of days out.

sam is here enough to keep watch, but not enough to keep track. of time, of the hours, of what is happening. he gets up at one point when he hears the horses skitter, uncertain at something happening. he goes (well, stumbles is more accurate) over to settle them both, to make sure there's nothing more out there. it can't be more than a minute, two tops, but it's long enough. long enough that when it's fine, when it's all settled, he turns back to their cavern, their fire, their home for the night, and all he sees is blood.

( later, sam might remember the way geralt had asked him about the dreams. about something happening with the singularity. how he'd looked concerned. but that will be later, once this all is said it done. )

a switch flicks over somewhere in the back of sam's mind. rather than shock, rather than panic, he's moving - all but lunging across the space. he lands, heavy, to his knees next to geralt, his trousers now thick with a mixture of sand and blood ( it's too familiar, it's too familiar, it's too- ) but it doesn't matter, because sam moves, assessing the damage, assessing the wounds. he has no idea what's happening and that thought tightens dangerously around his ribs, but he doesn't have time to focus too much on it. ]

Geralt. [ it comes out tight but cool, urgent but not quite out of control. sam's eyes are on his chest and stomach, on the wound that appears to have just split straight through, and then he's moving. hands reaching across the witcher to their bags, to where they have a few remaining provisions, pulling out their last real remaining bandage and water. he's no medic, not fully, but training is training when all is said and done, and that is what he has to rely on. ]

Geralt, man, I'm going to need you up- [ his voice is rising now, getting louder as he pressing what he's found to the wound, his eyes on geralt's face. ] Geralt, come on!

[ He wakes coughing, sucking in a shallow breath. His head spins. The dust and sand is sticky under his palms, the same dust and sand that swirled around him, but there's no frost, no snow, no freezing chill. His stomach lurches—bile and blood spilling from his lips.

(Fuck. Where is she? Is she—)

There are hands on him suddenly. His fingers curl into the rocky floor, nails scraping. Not Dean. Sam.

Sam. ]

Sam— [ He wants to explain at the same time he wants to ask Sam what the fuck is happening. If they were attacked, whose blood this belongs to (it's his), because he remembers the monsters, the horses, the hunt, but they weren't real. They weren't. He's here, with Sam, and he knows nothing's attacked them, nothing can. He sealed this cave tight, Sam was on watch, and he—

It's all a blur. He feels like he's choking. The tips of his fingers are cold, numb, but where he remembers the snap of bone in his leg, it isn't there anymore, and he manages to haul himself up onto his knees. One hand is wrapped around his middle, as though he can keep his insides in. ]

[ geralt wakes, sputtering and coughing, and for all that sam feels relieved that he does because it means he's got enough of himself there to be conscious, that relief is quickly overtaken by more worries. by the blood on geralt's lips, but what is most likely bile, from the depth of the wound. sam feels a bit crazed by the sudden panic that sets in.

what happened? what happened? sam almost wants to say it was the singularity, maybe something happening in the horizon, but that doesn't carry over. that doesn't do this. ]

Geralt- hey, no, don't- [ sam's hand goes to geralt's shoulder to try and keep him from sitting up, but it doesn't really help. if geralt wanted to get up on his knees, there's little of what sam can do to stop him, but he does push himself closer, his own hand on geralt's middle alongside the witcher's, holding him in. ] Stop moving, shit, what the fuck is happening... [ it comes to him a bit belatedly, that he should explain what he knows. that geralt is probably trying to piece this together, but even now sam's thoughts feel a bit like he's wading through water. ]

We weren't attacked, there's nothing here, I turned around and you just- [ sam steps in closer, trying to get a look at what else could be wrong. it pushes him right up against geralt's side, to try and keep him from falling and doing any more damage, but as the seconds pass, sam becomes more and more aware of how dangerous this is. how much blood there is. witcher mutations or not, geralt will bleed out, if not something worse. ]

Shit, shit, Geralt, stop. Stop moving- you're making it worse. [ and with a sudden surge of energy, of strength, sam's going to try and stop geralt. try to get him to stay wherever he is. sam's hands and arms are now soaked, the fabric of his clothes all along his front. they don't have the tools for this, he doesn't have the tools for this, but he has to do something.

that's when he remembers - his abilities. his new power. he'd barely practiced it, barely done much more than checking to make sure it was there, but sam quickly assesses that it's literally the only thing he has to do, and that means it's the best option. ] I think I can help, I think- [ sam doesn't bother finishing the thought, all but lunging to be in front of geralt, rather that at his side. the hand on geralt's shoulder moves to his middle, trying to push geralt's hands out of the way. ] Here, breathe, just- let me-

[ he doesn't wait for geralt to stop. doesn't even check to see if geralt is still awake. sam's attention goes to the gash across his middle and the blood and the fact he's almost certain he can see inside the witcher, can see everything that he shouldn't be able to, and then sam just tries to focus. ]

[ If Geralt were thinking straight, he'd have gathered it must be the Singularity. What else? What else would disrupt dreams, leave bruises and shadows behind, haunt the Horizon itself? He should have paid more attention to the signs when they surfaced but he—

He's afraid. What happened to Ciri? Is she safe? What if...

He should stop moving. He isn't listening, seized with the animal instinct to fight. There isn't even a weapon embedded in him to help staunch the bleeding. It flows freely, pouring out of him, drowning him from the inside. Sam is saying something, but he no longer hears him. His ears ring. He has elixirs, supplies—but they'll do fuck all. Not for what he's sustained: wounds that speak of a heavy overwhelming fight, not the bite of a monster or a claw caught on flesh. Not the sort of thing he'd normally anticipate out here.

He collapses forward. His vision swims. He blinks. Darkness. When he opens his eyes, he's no longer on his knees. Instead, he's sprawled on the ground, hands wet and slick, the cave floor stained red. Blood trickles from his arm, his stomach and chest, but when he touches it, it's...it isn't healed, but nowhere near the gaping hole it was. ]

Sam? [ Fuck. A different sort of fear rises in him. He grabs Sam, rolls him over. Out cold. Skin clammy. He doesn't need to check the pulse; he can hear Sam's heart beat. Not well, but it's beating. Pupils dilated.

He curses under his breath. What the fuck did you do, Sam. ]

[ sam doesn't know about the dreams. or, at least, he doesn't know about the direct connection between them. he knows that geralt's been dealing with them for a couple of days, ones that are a bit beyond the normal course where it concerns nightmares, but sam doesn't really get it. not in it's entirity. so he doesn't have the connection, he doesn't have the awareness.

what he has is geralt bleeding out, coughing up blood. geralt, dying, blood all over sam's hands. all over their clothes. pouring into the sand and dirt beneathe them. he can feel geralt tense, trying to fight, and god - if sam were good, if he wasn't so tired, he'd do a better job of fighting back. of forcing the man, no matter how much size and weight he might have on him, down. sam tries to hold him, tries to stop him, and thankfully (or not so thankfully) that is the moment geralt collapses into him.

geralt is a dead weight against him, and it takes a good amount of effort just to hold them both up. with a groan, he leans geralt back again, wincing at the hard thump of geralt's body hitting the ground, but what's a bump in the grand scheme of things. sam feels his stomach turn, seeing the visceral, the blood, the organs, but he pushes through all the same. reaches forward and sets his hands on geralt's middle. focuses, focuses, focuses.

it's odd - sam's used his power before, but only on smaller things. easy things. bruises and scrapes and the occasional scratch. now sam just lets it go, crumbling whatever wall, whatever restraint, he might have had. it just needs to be enough. enough to piece back whatever the worst of it is. just enough to get geralt breathing. his warms feel warm and he can't tell if it's geralt's blood or the magic at work, but it doesn't matter. more and more of it pours out of him, more and more seeps through. ]

Come on, come on- [ he mutters under his breath, urging it to go faster.

sam's eyes or closed, or else he'd be able to tell his vision is blurring. that he's getting weaker, and weaker, and weaker. he holds on, keeps pushing, keeps going, until it's his own turn to meet the darkness. ]

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[ closed ] out in the desert, late one night.

few days in.

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at the cave.

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the road home.

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