Disclaimer: I own neither RWBY nor The Witcher and neither do I own any rights over any of their characters used in this story. Both those rights belong to Roosterteeth and CD PROJEKT RED respectively. I don't want to have to repeat this every chapter so please refer to this chapter if you want a reminder of this. I don't want to have to break the flow of the story to remind people of the obvious. What I do own is the story I wrote about these characters and any characters I might create myself to create a better story. With that out of the way, please enjoy the story I started because of my brother who wouldn't shut up about it once I threw this idea into the room.

A/N:

"Jaune!" - Normal speech

"Jaune!" - Voiced out thoughts or memories

"Jaune!" - Common Tongue of the Northern Kingdoms in The Witcher

Chapter 1

Of Black and White Wolves

"Jaune!"

The small blonde boy was running through the pouring rain with reckless abandon, never looking back, his puffy red eyes locked in a straight line of sight in front of him, trying to blend out the noises and cries coming from behind.

"Jaune, run!"

His breathing was ragged at best and painful at least and yet he didn't stop, couldn't stop. He just couldn't stop running, no matter how much he hated himself for it. "Dad..." He also knew he should save his breath, but he couldn't surpress it any longer.

"Diana, get them out of here!"

"Rouge..." The picture of his youngest sister, barely four years old, being crushed without an opportunity to make a sound by an Ursa, her small frame soaked in a deeper red than the lovely color of her long, usually well kept hair, flashed before his eyes and brought forth another wave of tears that mixed with the water running down his face.

"Mommy!"

"Bleu… Azure…" A terrified scream by his twin sisters, grabbed and taken away by a Nevermore only to be dropped a few moments later from a height no one could survive.

"In here, Jaune! Hurry!"

He didn't know if he should be thankful or sad, that he didn't see any of his other sisters for a last time. On one hand would he have loved to wish them goodbye, on the other he didn't know if he could still be running now, if he knew that everyone else died as well.

"Ssshhhhh, baby. Please, don't cry. There will be a time for that later. Please stay silent for now."

He could still hear his mothers whispered pleading. Pleading not for her own life, but for his. Her face, as they heard the brute force that tried to smash the wooden door in his mother had hastily barricaded, was burned into his memory for the rest of his life. That he knew, even with his tender age of seven. "Ow!" He hit a root with his foot and fell to the ground where he scraped some skin of his hands and knees.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality..."

His mother's words rang in his ears as he saw the light yellow aura pulse around his body, mending the wounded and irritated skin to the point that one would never guess the unblemished skin had ever been anything else but that.

"Through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all..."

The trembling in her voice while she ignored the growls and barks coming from beyond the door were impossible to miss. Why were they not running? They should be running!

"Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee."

And then he heard the growling behind him as he tried to force himself on his legs to continue. To follow his mothers words. To honor her final wish as she carried him to the window on the other side of the room.

"Please, Jaune. Live. I want you to run and survive.

"Mom! No!"

"Jaune… Your sisters, your father, and I will always watch over you. No matter how lonely you feel, you'll never be truly alone. So… please… run. Run and live, so I can meet your father and tell him that I managed to give at least one of my wonderful treasures a future."

Horrified he turned around and froze in fear, as he saw the blood dripping of the fangs of the Alpha Beowolf. "No… Mom..." His voice was barely more than a whimper that escaped his sore throat but it rang in his head while the Beowolf stalked towards him, hate burning in its glowing red eyes, a foul breath blowing between the pearl white, finger long fangs in its mouth. Finally its right paw pressed down on his small torso, keeping him in place, while fresh blood mixed with saliva dropped down on his face.

"Find people you love, Jaune, and try to live life to its fullest. Goodbye, my little prince."

He couldn't avert his eyes. No… he didn't want to avert his eyes. Instead he looked into the depths of the red that was the last thing his mother saw and felt the same burning emotion that was ever present in them well up inside his chest, as he grabbed onto the black, leathery skin of the monstrosity above him. "You killed them… You killed her… You killed my mommy!"

He hadn't noticed the boiling sensation of his aura building up. He hadn't noticed the small amount of fear, that crept into the eyes of the beast. He hadn't even noticed the feeling of balanced similarity from the hatred inside him and the hatred inside the monster that seemed to bond together. But he noticed the bright, all consuming light that enveloped him as well as the Beowolf. It was difficult to miss, as it seemed to illuminate the whole forest. And following the brightest of light was an all too welcome feeling of unconsciousness that he embraced in the hope that everything would be okay again, once he woke up. His obsidian black skin and pure white fingernails were a fabrication of his mind, why shouldn't everything else be as well? The thunder rolled in the distance.

The man didn't know what he was running from. He knew he didn't want to stay with them. He knew they were dangerous. And he knew they hurt someone important to him. But for the life of him, he couldn't even remember who they were. Nor even who he was supposed to be.

"Geralt?"

And then there were those voices…

"Geralt! No!"

Geralt? Was that his name? Maybe. He held his side, where that thing's claw had cut through the leather of his armor, while he stumbled through the forest.

"Don't you dare die, White Wolf!"

A humorous scoff escaped his lips between labored breaths. She only called him by his moniker when she was pissed at him. He faltered for a second and almost fell to the ground. Apparently he remembered at least some things. But for the love of Melitele, he couldn't remember anything about "her". Only that it was a "she". And for fuck's sake, who was Melitele?

"Goodbye father. Get some rest. You've earned it."

Another female. And this one brought tears to his eyes. She had never called him "father" before. He grit his teeth and almost doubled his speed, a feral growl of grim determination escaping his throat. He couldn't remember their faces, not even their bodies, but he knew they were important and he would find them again.

He could hear the heavy booted steps behind him, trying to catch up to him. He could hear the clanking of the plates of their heavy armor screeching, even through the wailing of the wind and the splashing of the rain that hit his face and impaired his sight. And it was only through the low growl coming from in front of him that he was able to sidestep the elongated claws of the black… thing approaching his chest. In a moment of trained, almost natural reaction his right hand reached over his right shoulder, grabbed the handle of the silver sword positioned there and drew it in an almost perfect vertical arc that separated head and right front leg of the beast from its shoulders. "A Barghest?" But he didn't have time to stay and wonder about how he knew that word, or why this thing, if it even was a Barghest, seemed to be heavily mutated.

Instead he continued running without missing a step, his sword drawn in his right hand, ready for anything else trying to maim him for food or fun. But for whatever reason nothing else tried to attack him. That didn't mean that he didn't see other creatures, similar to the thing that attacked him. But instead of trying to come after him, almost all of them ran past him without even noticing him. The ones that did notice him, that locked eyes with him, averted their gazes and chose to ignore him and, according to the fighting noises reaching him from behind, attacked whoever was chasing him. "Why..." He shook his head. He could wonder about the peculiar behavior of these creatures when he was no longer in any immediate danger. Or once he could no longer move due to exhaustion, whichever came first.

And then he caught something with his boot and fell, his silver sword slipping out of his grip and digging its blade into a large root of one of the trees around him. His muscles trembled as he tried to stand up and look at what made him fall but what he saw made him stop from all attempts to move. There was a small creature… well not necessary a "creature". It seemed human in design. "A Godling?" Now why did he know this word? It was confusing and not to a small amount irritating as well. But once the creature rose onto shaky feet he got a better look. It seemed to be a kid, about six to eight years old, clad in a light blue shirt and short black pants. Or at least it used to be a child at some point. The thing had skin as black as the night, fingernails a pearly white as the claws of the creature he beheaded only a few minutes ago, and hair as white as the strands of his own hair that fell into his view. But what was maybe the most concerning were those large glowing red eyes. Because, while similar to all the others he had seen that night, these held an intelligence the others lacked. "So… not a mutation but a sort of… corruption?" It made sense. A corruption that could spread to organic beings would strengthen and modify the body of the creatures, but would most likely not be able to amplify cognitive abilities. But then again, it must be more difficult for the corruption to take hold of truly intelligent beings, otherwise there would have been more former humans in the packs of creatures that passed by him. Eyeing for his silver sword he found it next to the creature that gazed at him with… surprise? Awe? A silent cry for help… his hand stopped on its way to his steel sword once the creature stared at it questioningly. As if it didn't understand why he would look at it and draw a sword.

Its eyes darted from his right hand to his face that used that moment to express how much pain the wound on his left side was actually causing. It cried out in some kind of language as its gaze landed on his bloody left hand and it seemed to express worry for him. Huh… that's… unexpected. And then it fell. Apparently its legs were still too unsteady for walking. The look of horror in the… boys eyes when his arms came into his line of sight was something that nothing, neither human nor monster, should ever be able to show.

Jaune was in for a rough awakening. Literally. The first thing he registered was a boot that hit him in the side and sent him rolling for roughly a meter before he heard a dumb thud of something hitting wood while a louder noise reached his ears when something heavy fell to the floor. "Owww..." As he tried to get onto his wobbly legs he heard a rough voice say… something. He had no idea what was said but once he managed to stand and look around he saw a human. A human! He was saved! His family was… no! There was a human here. One who had to be a huntsman. Okay, he looked rather strange with a large scar crossing over his left eye, a smaller one on his forehead above his right eye, and a third one diagonally between his right eye and his nose. Speaking of eyes, he had… the eyes of a cat? And snow white hair. How weird was that? But no matter. He was wearing armor and was carrying a sword on his back. He had to be a huntsman! He had to be able to help him! He had to be able to… why was he looking at him like that? As if he was waiting for him to pounce like a predator on wounded prey? Why was his hand creeping towards his sword handle? Was there something standing behind him? Jaune's eyes wandered to the man's face again, only to see the wary look vanish in an expression of pain as he pressed his left hand to his side. "You're hurt!"

Jaune tried to walk forward to help the man but stumbled and fell down, though he managed to catch his fall with his hands. And then he froze. His skin was jet black, his fingernails a ghostly pearl-white. "No. That's not possible. No. No, no, no, no, no! I'm not! I'm not a Grimm! I'm not a monster!" He could feel the tears run down his face. He could feel the fear take hold in his heart. He could feel… pity? Why would he pity himself? Why would he pity something that took away his family?

He stopped. He felt pity. But he didn't feel self-pity. And when he tried to follow the trail to find out where the feeling came from, he lifted his head to see that the eyes of the man had softened by a large margin. The man who had been ready to kill him. The man who was hurt! He needed help. But who could help him? Hunter's Refuge was… not overrun by Grimm. He could feel the darkness in the Grimm prowling around the woods and attacking the people in the north, who for some reason seemed to be filled to the brim with anger, contempt, and arrogance. But there was no darkness coming from the village. There was also no light, like he could feel from the man in front of him. Jaune faltered for a moment but soon caught himself and got a look of determination. He could despair later. Right now that man needed help and he could help. That was everything that mattered. So he struggled back on his feet and walked, though still shaking, over to the man. "We have to go. You need help." But the man seemed… not deaf, no. His facial expressions told Jaune that he heard him, but that he didn't understand what he said. Therefore Jaune pointed to the man's wound and then in the direction Jaune had come from. "Help!"

The man followed his hands and seemed to understand the notion Jaune wanted to convey, as he nodded slowly. "Hel...p." He looked like he just tried to tie his tongue into a knot and Jaune couldn't help to snicker a bit at the man's expression, despite the grave situation. But then the spell was broken and the gravity of the situation came crashing down on him as fast as it had vanished with another sharp gasp of pain from the man. Therefore Jaune, finally a bit steadier on his feet, walked the remaining distance to the man, positioned himself behind his back and started to push against the man back to back in his attempt to help him rise to his feet again. Funny enough, it took them less time to accomplish this feat than Jaune assumed, which seemed to take not just Jaune by surprise. Once he was standing again, the man turned around to look Jaune once more into his eyes, only to point over his shoulder after seemingly coming to a decision after a few moments. "Swerte."

For a second, Jaune was confused but then decided to look behind the man, where he saw the sword still lodged in the root where it had landed. It took him a few times of looking between the sword and the expectant look the man wore on his face until it finally clicked. Hastily he stumbled towards the sword and grabbed the handle only to jump in surprise when he heard the man shout at him, which made him turn again. He didn't understand what the man wanted from him. First he told him… well not necessarily told but rather motioned him to get his sword, only to shout at him for getting it? It made no sense! Brought out of his musings, Jaune finally noticed the man make the universal hand sign to slow down. Why was he supposed to slow down? They didn't have the time to slow down! Every second they stood around was a second they could get hur… He finally understood. This wasn't just some old weapon of sentimental value. This was a sword. A sword sharp enough to lodge itself in a tree and stay upright with nothing more than a bit of torque and gravity. The man didn't want him to just slow down, he wanted him to be careful. And so he took a step to the side to face the flat of blade before he pulled it out of the wood. This time, with carefully calculated steps and a sharp sword producing a silvery gleam in the rain he walked towards the man and lifted it slowly as high as he could to make it easier for the man to reclaim his weapon. "S… swerte?" With a small nod, the man grabbed the handle of the offered sword and let it slide back into its scabbard.

With this finally out of the way, Jaune grabbed the man by his left hand and pulled him along in the direction of the ruins once known as the settlement and outpost Hunter's Refuge.

As the boy took his hand and pulled him along, Geralt couldn't help but wonder and marvel a bit about the unexpected body strength the boy could muster up. Most likely a result of the mutation the corruption caused in his body. And thinking about the corruption he came back to the surprising fact that the boy was in no way hostile. "Maybe the corruption cannot affect cognitive abilities like intelligence, emotions, and behavior? Or the corruption takes some time to influence the brain? No. Wouldn't make any sense. A body-altering mutation like this has to start with the nervous system before it can start spreading to the rest of the body. Even in case of an wound-inflicted infection, the mutagens would be transported to the brain via the blood stream before the mutation could spread to the extremities. Maybe..."

"Jaune." The small voice broke through his professional inner monologue and the silence of the rain-drenched atmosphere around them and forced Geralt to focus his gaze on the boy who was walking next to him and holding onto his hand like it was the last life-line he had left to save him from drowning.

"After the mutation he must be clawing for any little proof that he is still human."

His thoughts didn't get him very far though, as this time the boy turned his head towards Geralt and pointed towards himself. "Jaune." But not just that, this boy… Jaune, even showed him a smile. It wasn't a wide smile, and certainly not a happy one either, but its message was clear nonetheless: "I will help you."

Slowly the outline of a village could be seen through the spaces between the trees but Geralt was far too occupied with the sad… no… hollow expression mirrored in the boys eyes. "Maybe I was wrong and the corruption is slowly affecting his mind, or…" As soon as they stepped out of the alley between two of the wooden huts and onto what seemed to be the main street of the village Geralt couldn't help but correct his thoughts, as he was confronted with a far more likely answer. "… or he is the sole survivor of a massive raid on his home and is forcing himself to walk through a bloody massacre to find something to help a wounded stranger he just met in the forest."

As Geralt stopped looking around, having had enough of looking at mutilated corpses of all ages, his gaze fell once more on the face of Jaune, who was maneuvering him through the carnage while simultaneously trying his best to ignore the lifeless eyes and motionless bodies of people he had lived alongside just a measly day before all this happened. "Geralt."

This time it was Jaune who turned his head at the sound of Geralt's voice and looked at him with wide eyes, his white sclera forming a rather spooky contrast to his obsidian black skin, and tears running down his cheeks. And it was Geralt this time who pointed at himself, repeating his name. "Geralt."

With a small nod, Jaune averted his eyes and looked in front of him, steering both of them towards a hut. Well… maybe calling it a 'hut' would be a bit of an understatement. A more applicable description would be 'a massive, two-story wooden cabin' with a family crest of two longswords crossed behind a five-spiked crown with two arcs opening upwards beneath the crown burnt into the log above the door. With a small limp, Geralt followed Jaune, as the boy had let go of his hand to push open the heavy wooden door with deceiving ease, and stepped inside the house, only to marvel at the interior. It all seemed… homely, to describe it in one word, with soft rugs on the dark oaken floor, a fireplace made from gray and black stones at the other end of a giant living room with enough couches to comfortably seat up to sixteen people surrounding it.

With a tug on his left hand, Geralt looked back down at Jaune who, as he noticed the pained expression in his eyes, did his best not to look around. Instead with another quiet "Help." he pulled Geralt along through another door on the other side of the entrance into a small room with a bed and a working table with both herbs and medicine spread across its surface. Next, Jaune let go of his hand and walked a few steps ahead of Geralt, turned around to face him, and pointed first at his armor then at his own shirt and pulled it up a bit, all while staring into the man's eyes and saying "Remove." afterwards.

Geralt got the gist of it, nodded in acceptance, and started removing his gear, starting with the sheaths on his back and finally stripping himself of his shirt to reveal a rather nasty cut slightly above his left hip that, while it wasn't as deep as it could have been taking into account the shear force behind the swipe of the thing that Geralt could only describe as a massive black bear with bones all over its body, still bled quite a lot. With a heavy sigh, Geralt let himself fall on top of the bed and was a bit surprised by the softness of the mattress. He was about to add another thing to the list of things to wonder about as Jaune stepped closer with a red bag with a green cross stitched on top of it in his short arms.

With a few quick movements, Jaune had opened the bag and placed a dark brown bottle, a small stack of white rectangles, and a few white rolls next to Geralt on the bed. The boy was about to start his treatment when he noticed that Geralt was still drenched and dripping water all around him. Hurriedly, Jaune stumbled out of the room and Geralt could hear him storming through the house, thanks to his sensitive hearing. It wasn't even a minute later before Jaune had returned with a massive stack of towels in his arms and dropped them unceremoniously on the chair between the bed and the table. He then took the topmost towel and started drying of Geralts midsection as to tend to his wound as fast as possible. That done, Jaune disinfected the wound with the brown liquid that, in Geralt's humble opinion, burned like hell. After that, Jaune dressed the wound with a few herbs from the table and finished his job by winding bandages around Geralt's waist. During that whole procedure, Geralt couldn't help but watch the boy in astounded silence. The expertise Jaune showed was not something he would associate with a six-to-eight years old boy.

With his job of disinfecting and bandaging the wound done, Jaune could finally relax. Geralt's aura would do the rest. With a small sigh, he put the rest of the bandages and the bottle with disinfectant back into the first-aid kit and placed the kit back on the shelves next to the table. When he turned around again, he noticed the man looking at him with a mixture of confusion and interest. A bit confused about the look himself, Jaune walked back towards the bed and patted on the mattress while looking Geralt in the eyes. "Sleep." But as he didn't react at the command Jaune pointed at Geralt, then the bed, and then folded his hands next to his right ear and closed his eyes. "Sleep." The man's eyes widened in understanding and he lied down, putting his head on the pillow, only to be surprised again by how soft it felt. Finally, Jaune gave him a thick wool blanket before picking up the wet and slightly red towels and carrying them back to the bathroom where he dropped them into the laundry basket.

Slowly, his eyes wandered towards the mirror above the sink. He was too short to even see the top of his head from where he stood which is why, shortly after, his gaze wandered towards the stool beneath the sink. Indecision reigned in his mind: did he even want to know what he looked like? Could he bear to see the monster that killed his family staring back at him in the mirror? But he had to… he had to know! Maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad? He chuckled. Maybe it was just his skin that had changed color and the color of his nails was just their normal color, only in contrast with his black skin now? Yeah… yeah… that might just be it.

With determination, he pulled the stool from beneath the sink and stood upon it, only for his world to shatter the… how many times would this time make it? He couldn't even remember or bring himself to care to count. Instead he stared at his reflection. The form of his face hadn't changed but that was about it. His sun-kissed blonde hair was now white as snow and his sky-blue eyes were now nothing more than angry red islands in the middle of stark white lakes surrounded by planes of black wasteland. Jaune basically jumped from the stool and ran out of the bathroom back to the living-room, where he basically ripped the large family photo from above the fireplace, only to beeline it into his parents bedroom on the second floor, where the giant, floor-level mirror stood on the adjacent wall of the entrance next to and behind a queen sized bed. There, he placed the picture frame in front of him on the ground, leaning against his legs, so he could compare himself to his five-year-old self in the picture. That turned out to be a mistake. His breathing stilled.

There, in the picture, was his family. A big, whole, happy family, with his father and mother standing at the back. His father, looking tall and regal with the same blonde hair and blue eyes he himself used to have, had his hands resting on top of the heads of Noir and Blanche, his oldest sisters, then eleven and ten years old respectively, while his mother, her long, hazelnut brown hair framing her beautiful face, had her right arm hooked into his father's left arm, carrying the two-year-old Rouge in her left arm. To the left of Blanche stood the twins, nine-years-old Bleu and Azure, and to the right of Noir were his other younger sisters linked by their hands, the four-year-old Argent and the three-year-old Rose. And there in the middle, huddled in the arms of Noir and Blanche, stood he: Jaune Arc. The only boy in a House of ten with hair the color of his golden heart, a smile seemingly permanent on his rosy cheeks, and while everyone in the picture was either laughing, smiling, or grinning, his smile was by far the brightest. And why shouldn't it have been? He had everything he could have wished for: a happy family where love was present in abundance.

And then the picture cracked. Well, more accurately the glass of the frame cracked. Where his breath had halted beforehand, Jaune was now close to hyperventilating and his grip on the frame was strong enough to break it. Tears were streaming down his face while he stared into those infernal red eyes. Time seemed to stop for a moment before everything hit Jaune at once. The loss of his family, his friends, his home… his humanity.

It started with a small whimper that escaped his throat.

Geralt was exhausted. The potion Jaune had applied to his wound and the accompanying pain had left him drained of most of the energy he had had recovered after his run through the forest. But it was not just the pain, it was also the confusion that took its toll on his mind. The architecture of the village, the perfectly plastered street, the furniture in this house, even the pillow he was resting his head upon. Everything was unbelievably luxurious and yet at the same time seemed almost ordinary. Where was he? Why was he here? And why was he fleeing from something he could not even remember anymore? He had too many questions and next to no answers. That instance was not helped at all by the apparent language barrier that existed between him and the people living here. "Jaune… the name sounds almost Nilfgaardian." Geralt lifted his head and did a double take before falling back into his pillow and sighing excessively. "And what the fuck is 'Nilfgaard'? Why do I know things I do not know?" Another sigh and he closed his eyes. There was no point in worrying about things he could not control at the moment and maybe a bit of rest would help him put his thoughts in order.

And so his eyes closed and he let his thoughts drift into nothingness… until he heard something that drove away any and all exhaustion. If the expression on Jaune's face was the depiction of despair, then this soft yet terrible scream, which seemed to reverberate in the deepest corners of the soul, was the sound of despair. Geralt was up and running before he could even waste a thought about who the scream was coming from. Then again, he didn't have to think about it at all. He knew who it was. After all, there is only so much you can do to distract yourself from the horrible fate life has presented you with before something has to give and a seven-year-old boy, no matter how kind and strong he is, has only so much mental fortitude.

Geralt stormed up the stairs and ran the corridor along towards the slightly open door at its end, all the while ignoring the biting pain in his side. But before he could even touch the door to throw it wide open, the scream stopped. Geralt's hand hesitated a few seconds before it finally followed his command to push the door open. Once that was done and he was through the doorway he let his eyes wander with bated breath, expecting a destroyed room or at least some sign of violence that seemed appropriate for the frustration, hatred, and despair he heard in the scream prior its abrupt stop. But there was next to nothing wrong. No splintered wood, no torn fabric, no shattered glass. Even the bed seemed untouched. Instead he heard soft sobs coming from behind the bed.

In trained silence, Geralt moved slowly around the massive piece of furniture only to see a scene that made him curse his uselessness. Here was a boy who, despite everything going on around him, not even accounting the rapid change of his body and the loss of his entire family, went out of his way to help him and, very much likely, saved his life. A boy who, despite suffering from something he could not describe other than with the term 'corruption', retained a spirit that he could not help but call the pinnacle of human kindness and almost saintlike. A boy who desperately needed his family, if him clutching the family picture to his chest was any indication, and who, at the same time, was apparently so ashamed of what he had become that despite his greatest need and wish, had the faces and smiles of his family turned away from him. And here he stood: a man who had been helped by said boy, unable to come up with anything to return the favor.

It wouldn't have been exactly wrong to say that it was basically the feelings of guilt pressing down on his shoulders which brought him down on one knee. "Jaune..." His voice was everything but the usual stern and powerful tone he was used to. And he hesitated again. They had no way of communicating to understand each other sufficiently, so what could he possibly do to give this brave boy even the slightest sliver of comfort?

But the strength and determination of this young child surprised Geralt yet again, as his barely whispered name seemed enough to pull Jaune out of his thoughts and grief and bring him back into the grasps of the present. And while his tears were still running down his face, they still focused on Geralt as if his well being meant the world.

The epiphany hit Geralt with an intensity comparable only to a war mallet to the groin. It meant the world. At least to this young man. To a young man whose only wish seemed to be to help people and who couldn't do anything to protect his home and loved ones, he was his last chance to prove that his life still had meaning. Forget his loss of a human skin tone or the trauma of walking through blood littered streets: if he couldn't even help that one person that was left in all this chaos, what meaning was there in surviving. "He has to prove to himself that he can still help people, no matter the cost to himself."

And as if to prove him right, Jaune stood up, wiped away his tears and pointed towards the bed. "Bed. Sleep."

Geralt's eyes didn't even need to move for him to know what Jaune meant or even who this bed had belonged to. No, instead they maintained the eye contact with his small savior while Geralt contemplated what he should do. Or better, what he could do.

And so the two spent a few minutes in complete silence until Geralt finally came to a decision. "Jaune, I hereby swear to you that as long as you need me, or as long as I am able to, I will be there for you. I will protect you, I will teach you, and I will care for you. Until the day that takes me away from you or the day that you decide to leave and make your own way in life I will be your family." Geralt knew beforehand that Jaune wouldn't be able to understand anything he said but he needed to say it out loud. To make his decision known not just to himself but to the world as well.

Jaune had, as was to be expected, a rather confused look on his face until Geralt rose from his kneeling position, took the picture out of Jaune's hands, and moved him towards the large bed, where Geralt moved the covers back and lay down only to, instead of closing his eyes, give Jaune an expectant look and pat the spot next to him. "Sleep."

The surprise on the young man's face would have even been apparent to a blind man, but the smile that followed told Geralt that he made the right decision. While it was neither wide nor overly happy, it was the first heartfelt smile his savior had shown him and with tears, both in the boys eyes and voice, he slowly nodded. "Sleep." With that, Jaune climbed up the bed and pressed himself as close as humanly possible into Geralt's side before the man lowered the covers down again to keep them warm while they both caught some much needed sleep.