TW for dream/flashback to (non-graphic) assault
Jaskier is freezing.
Normally this would be unremarkable because it's winter and he's been camping in the snow for weeks, but for some reason the trees are green and he's not in the mountains anymore. Instead he's in a plush room with velvet-cushioned chairs and a broken window.
A man enters the room, but he has no face. Jaskier's heart leaps. He tries to run, but his feet are trapped by thorny vines that sneak across the ground and up his legs. The faceless man closes the window. The room goes dark.
"You're a pretty one, aren't you?"
Jaskier can't breathe. He knows the voice – scraped palms, bruises like fingerprints, hands where they shouldn't be – and it hurts.
"Aren't you going to sing for me?"
Cold sweat gathers on the back of his neck and he bites his tongue, choking on the blood that pools in his mouth. He's so cold. He can't feel his fingers.
"Don't move, or I'll break your fingers and you won't be able to play your sweet songs again."
Even if he wanted to, Jaskier can't move. Somehow, he's made of ice now, brittle and breakable, and if he breathes the wrong way, he'll fall apart. Panic is taking over, heart slamming against his chest and tears on his cheeks...
No, not tears. Something warm and gentle, and then there's a soft whine instead of the voice, and then—
Jaskier gasps, eyes flying open as he pulls himself from the dream and frantically tires to remember where he is. It's too dark to see, but there's something with him, something warm that's nudging him and licking his hands.
The wolf.
Jaskier exhales in relief as the wolf sniffs him, then headbutts him and lets out a low, concerned whine. He's not there. That was months ago, and he's safe now.
"I'm all right," Jaskier says, slightly out of breath and still trembling. The wolf huffs as if it doesn't quite believe him, then moves closer, curling up and bumping Jaskier's chest with his head. When he leans up to lick Jaskier's cheeks, Jaskier realizes he's crying.
"Fuck," Jaskier whispers, tipping his head back and swallowing against the tears. The wolf gives him a quiet, gentle woof, and Jaskier laughs wetly. "It was just a dream," he murmurs, running his fingers through the wolf's soft fur. "Wasn't real. It's okay." He sniffles, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "It's okay. We're okay."
No matter how many times he says it, he can't stop crying. It's the first dream in weeks that he's had since Then, and the terrified thrumming in his chest just won't go away.
The wolf shifts forward again until he's nearly in Jaskier's lap, then leans heavily against him and noses at his hand, licking it a few times and making a comforting sound. He tips his head back against Jaskier's chest, looking up at him with soft eyes and bumping his chin with a wet nose.
Jaskier shivers, closing his eyes and focusing on the solid weight against him. The wind is still howling outside and flakes of snow are drifting in through the entrance of the cave, but he's safe here. Nothing's going to hurt him with nearly two hundred pounds of sharp teeth and claws in the way.
"Thank you," he says after a while. The wolf makes a soft sound but doesn't move away from him – if anything, it tries to get closer. "I really am all right now. It was just a dream." The wolf looks at him quizzically and Jaskier sighs. "Humans are cruel," he says softly, tipping his head against the wall. "Not all of them, but some. I was…"
He trails off, shaking his head as he remembers that he's talking to a wolf. Instead, he runs his fingers through soft fur, focusing on the way it slips between his fingers instead of the cold sweat on the back of his neck.
When he finally shifts to lie back down, the wolf stays beside him, warm and present as Jaskier slips back into a dreamless sleep.
When Jaskier wakes up again, it's early morning. A thin, pale light trickles into the cave, accompanied by the occasional flake of snow that's still drifting down from the sky. Despite the dismal weather outside, Jaskier is sweating, and it takes him a second to figure out why.
The wolf is still there, curled up next to Jaskier, breathing evenly with his head resting on Jaskier's chest. Every once in a while, his paws twitch and he makes a quiet half-barking sound as if he's chasing something.
A grateful warmth spreads through Jaskier's chest as he recalls his dream and the wolf's gentle comfort. He's still unsettled and on edge as he usually is after nightmares, but finding he's not alone makes it a bit more bearable.
As soon as Jaskier shifts to get more comfortable, furry ears perk up and the wolf yawns, showing off teeth that could tear Jaskier limb from limb. When he sees Jaskier, his tail starts to pound against the wall of the cave, and he licks Jaskier's cheek.
"Yes, hello, good morning to you, too," Jaskier says, scratching behind the wolf's ears and laughing as his face and neck are assaulted with more kisses. "I'm very happy to see you, I promise." The wolf stands up slowly, stretching and yawning again and then shaking away the sleep before nosing at Jaskier.
"I told you yesterday," Jaskier chastises, "I don't have anything else to eat."
The wolf huffs and tilts his head to the side, then turns and disappears out into the snow. A pang of disappointment flashes through Jaskier and he nearly calls out, only to realize that he's being ridiculous. The wolf is a wild animal – despite being remarkably affectionate – and he was never going to stick around.
"Lovely." Jaskier rubs his face, huddling under the blanket for a few more minutes before finally giving in and tossing it away. He quickly pulls on his traveling clothes – much more practical now than he'd had when travelling with Geralt – and packs up his bag before stepping out into the snow.
It's cold but not windy, and the sky is a soft, suffocating gray that presses down on the earth and makes everything feel small and simple. The wolf's tracks lead south, away from the road and further into the forest, and for a minute, Jaskier feels a strange pull to follow them.
"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters, tugging his cloak closer around him and shaking his head. "Can't follow every dangerous, grumpy thing you see to a certain death, look how well that worked out for you last time."
His thoughts drift to Geralt for a moment and he's ashamed to feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Maybe if Geralt had been there, those months ago, when it happened…
"You can protect yourself," Jaskier chastises himself fiercely, wiping his face with a gloved hand. "You don't need some stupid, drate-poking… twat to take care of you." There's anger behind the words, backed by a deep, bitter sense of hurt that he tries his hardest to push away. Even in the soft daylight, pieces of the dream still haunt him, and he shudders, rubbing at his wrists even though he knows the bruises are long gone.
He's about to start making his way through the snow when something rustles in the bushes. Before he can get a hand to his dagger, the wolf barrels out of the trees towards him, two dead rabbits hanging from his mouth. He sits eagerly at Jaskier's feet, dropping the rabbits and thumping his tail into the snow.
"You came back," Jaskier says softly, and before he can stop himself, he crouches down and takes the wolf's muzzle in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. Something about this feels right, filling the lonely, angry space that's been growing in Jaskier for so long.
The wolf licks Jaskier's cheek and nudges the rabbits with his paw, looking pleased with himself.
"You're a very good boy," Jaskier says, scratching behind the wolf's ears and exhaling at the sense of relief that fills his chest. "Looks like it's time for breakfast."
