A/N: So one of my Deaf friends who played the Witcher 3 told me that one of the signs (Axii) used ASL fingerspelling to make the sign - and she was right! So because I'm a sign language interpreter and it's a huge part of my life, I'm playing with canon and making it a Thing.
Also, I gave Jaskier a case for his lute because it's absolutely ridiculous that he would just carry around such an important instrument with no protection from the wind/rain/snow/etc. He loves that damn thing too much to not keep it safe.
Stay.
Geralt swallows, trying not to tremble at the sensation of Jaskier's fingertips on his palm, and nods slowly, settling down next to him on the bed. He doesn't deserve this. He'd been half-expecting Jaskier to wake up and tell him to leave, and if he had, Geralt would have gone.
All he does it hurt people, and this is exactly why he needs nobody. Or wants to need nobody, because as hard as he's tried to convince himself that he doesn't want Jaskier around, he knows it's a lie.
He needs Jaskier, and he hates himself for it.
"Go to sleep," he says softly, letting Jaskier's fingers slide between his. "You're safe."
Jaskier, nods, squeezing Geralt's hand weakly and closing his eyes. It only takes a few seconds for his shaky breaths to even out as he slips back into sleep. The tight lines of pain on his face relax and Geralt lets go of his hand, running his fingers across Jaskier's cheek.
He sits with Jaskier for a long time, watching the rise and fall of his chest until he's convinced that Jaskier is truly asleep and isn't in any pain. Then Geralt stands, kissing Jaskier's forehead before turning and heading for the door.
He needs to go back up the mountain.
This time, he takes Roach. They find a different path, and although it would be impassable for a regular horse, Roach has put up with worse and she seems to understand the importance of the trip. It's easy to find the hut where Jaskier was held, and as soon as it comes into view, Geralt digs his nails into his palms so hard they almost start to bleed.
The monster is still there. Well, part of it, anyway. Now that Geralt has a chance to see it in the daylight, he realizes it's a nightwalker. Its head, which has rolled a bit down the hill, is mostly teeth and horns, and its claws are nearly as long as Geralt's forearm.
He burns down the shack with the body inside it.
After that he heads back to the river where the remains of the barghest are strewn about the riverbank. He burns that, too, watching the smoking remains until there's nothing left but ash.
"C'mon, Roach," he murmurs once it's done. Roach nickers and headbutts him, then follows him back through the trees and along the trail of blood until they get to the spot where Jaskier was attacked. When Geralt sees Jaskier's pack and lute case still sitting against the tree, he breathes a sigh of relief.
At least he can do this one thing right.
Jaskier wakes up to an empty room and gnawing hunger sitting deep in his belly. He groans, carefully rubbing his face with his good hand. He's pleased to find smooth skin again, although the idea of Geralt shaving him while he's asleep is… strange. Not unpleasant, just odd.
He slowly pushes himself up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. When he tugs up his shirt – Geralt's shirt – he's greeted with a ladder of purple and green bruises up and down his ribs. It hurts to breathe too deeply, but the ache from yesterday is dulled somewhat.
Now, he thinks, to figure out where I am. He's used to talking to himself out loud – Geralt always complains about it, but Jaskier's afraid to try to use his voice again. If he doesn't try to speak, he reasons, it doesn't mean he can't. He's just choosing not to. Which is something entirely different.
He pushes aside the lingering uneasiness and uses his good hand to push himself up, wobbling for a second before taking a small step. It's unsteady, but he doesn't feel like he's going to pass out. He looks around the room until he finds a pair of loose breeches that he's able to shimmy into, then slowly, carefully heads towards the door.
It opens into a small hallway, which leads to a comfortable-looking room with three chairs set around a fireplace. A woman is sitting in one of them, stirring something in a pot over the fire, and she turns and smiles at Jaskier when he enters the room.
"You're looking much better," she says, moving over to him and taking his arm to help guide him to a chair. "Come, sit – you must be starving. I've got the stew going, should be ready soon. Some bread while you wait?"
Jaskier doesn't answer right away. Instead he looks around the room – they're in some sort of farmhouse with a large window that opens onto a farmer's field. The sun is nearly set, pulling streaks of blue and purple across the sky.
"I'm Sayla," the woman says, holding out a cup of water. Jaskier takes it with a shaky hand, still not quite sure if this is a dream. The fact that Geralt isn't here is unsettling, and he frowns at the woman, trying to figure out how to ask her where he went.
"Your Witcher friend went off to find something for you," Sayla says as if reading Jaskier's mind. "He left last night; should be back any time. Drink up, the stew will be ready soon."
The uneasy sensation in Jaskier's stomach intensifies – the woman seems kind, but Jaskier can't trust her. Geralt's not here, and without him, Jaskier isn't safe. He shakes his head, holding the cup back out to Sayla, and she sighs.
"Love, you haven't eaten in nearly four days," Sayla says gently. "Promise I ain't tryin' to poison you. It's just plain old rabbit stew, swear on my mother."
Jaskier can't help the quiet, confused sound that escapes him. His breath catches in his throat and suddenly his chest feels tight, and his hand is trembling so hard that he drops the cup. It hits the floor with a dull thud, and he watches with wide eyes as the water trickles across the wooden floor.
"Are you all right?" Sayla asks, tipping her head down, and she's too close now, close enough to hurt him, to change and laugh and tear him apart. He tries to scramble backward and suddenly the chair tips under him, and he hits the ground with a sharp gasp. "I don't—"
Sayla's anxious words are interrupted by the front door opening, and then Geralt is there, face drawn in a frown with Jaskier's lute case held in one hand.
"Jaskier," he says softly, setting the case down and moving to kneel on the floor next to him. "What's wrong?"
"N…" Jaskier swallows back the words and shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow and shifting closer to Geralt. He grabs Geralt's hand, quickly writing the word safe? in his palm.
"Yes," Geralt says, squeezing Jaskier's hand. "Sayla helped bandage you up let us stay here. She won't hurt you."
Geralt's low, soft voice calms the racing of Jaskier's heart somewhat, and the panic starts to feel like something closer to embarrassment. Heat creeps up the back of his neck, and he stares at their joined hands instead of looking up at Sayla.
Without thinking, Jaskier brings his hand to his chest and makes the sign for sorry. He hasn't used the signs in years – not since his courses at Oxenfurt when he and his best mate had learned the language purely as a means to talk about other students behind their backs.
"He says he's sorry," Geralt says, taking Jaskier's elbow and helping him to his feet. Jaskier frowns, looking up at Geralt, who ignores his curious gaze.
"It's all right, dear," Sayla says, picking up the spilled cup and dabbing at the water with a cloth. "You've been through a lot; I take no offense." She gives him a gentle smile, then gestures back to the room. "Why don't you go rest and I'll bring you something to eat when it's ready?"
As soon as they're back in the bedroom, Geralt helps Jaskier sit on the bed, then crouches down in front of him and runs his hands down Jaskier's arms. The touch makes Jaskier shiver.
"How are you feeling?" Geralt asks, tipping his head to the side in that ridiculously endearing way that makes him look like an actual wolf. "Do you need something for the pain?"
Jaskier shakes his head, careful not to disturb the bandage on his shoulder. Better. He raises an eyebrow when Geralt nods at the sign, clearly understanding him. How do you know the signs?
Geralt shrugs. "We learned more than just hunting and fighting at Kaer Morhen," he says simply. "Some of the Witcher signs use the language." He moves his hand and Jaskier raises an eyebrow as his fingers spell the word Axii. There isn't much magic behind it, but Jaskier feels a small wave of calm wash over him and he closes his eyes, exhaling in relief.
"I found your lute," Geralt says after a moment. He gestures to the case that's leaning against the wall.
You went back? Jaskier's eyes widen when Geralt nods. Why?
"It's important to you." Geralt looks down at the ground and Jaskier is astonished by the red flush that creeps across Geralt's cheeks. "And I… needed to make sure the monster was taken care of."
A shudder runs down Jaskier's spine as a memory of of blood and claws and teeth flashes through his mind. Gone? he asks.
Geralt nods and rubs his thumb absently across Jaskier's knee. "I burned it. It was a nightwalker – they feed off fear. That's why it… tortured you."
It looked like you, Jaskier says.
"I figured." Geralt sighs and rubs his face. "I'm sorry." Jaskier moves to interrupt him but he shakes his head. "I know you said you forgive me, but I don't… I don't want you to." Jaskier frowns. "Not yet. I want—I need to earn it." He keeps his gaze on Jaskier's knees, red still clinging to his cheeks. "I thought you were going to die, and the last thing I'd said to you was that I didn't need you."
Part of Jaskier flinches, recalling the angry words and the wild look in Geralt's eyes. But Geralt's here, now – he carried Jaskier to safety, sat with him while he healed, went back up the mountain to get his lute just because it's important to him.
"I do…" Geralt hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "I do need you. And this—" he gestures at the bandage on Jaskier's throat. "We'll figure it out. I promise."
