"I'll be here when you wake up."
A/N: Akela is about 16.
Summary: Akela hurts herself while following Geralt on a hunt.
Who in their right mind wanted to fight monsters?
Even Akela couldn't understand her crazy brain. What girl wanted to risk their life by slashing and slicing and murdering things? Yes, they were bad things, but it was still killing.
She should have stayed there.
She should have stayed at the camp.
But she hadn't.
And now she was practically bleeding out on the ground.
"You're not bleeding out," Geralt said monotonously. He was not being kind in the slightest with the wet rag he was holding against her side which, no matter how many times he disagreed, was bleeding. Out.
"You're not the one in pain," she said right before hissing as he pressed a little harder. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face to bury it in the ground.
"Well, I'll tell you something—" The witcher kept the rag to her wound with one hand and reached over for the bowl of pinkish water with the other. His hands were red with blood. His mind was elsewhere. All he could see was the image of Akela lying there against a tree, holding a ripped piece of clothing to the gaping hole in her side— "you wouldn't be in pain if you had just done as you were told."
She opened her eyes a crack to look at him, focusing on her breathing as he'd instructed her not ten minutes ago after he'd carried her back to the camp. Geralt's own eyes were still in their last stages of returning from black to amber. "You could have died."
"But I didn't," she informed him, "it's just a scratch."
Geralt's anger finished boiling in less than a second. "Damn it, girl! When will you realise that's not the fucking point? Today it's a… a gaping hole—scratch! Don't make me laugh—tomorrow it'll be a considerable gash, then a wound I won't be able to heal with what I have, and then I'll be digging your fucking grave!"
"Ow! Geralt!" Akela burst out, but for the smallest of moments Geralt couldn't find it within himself to stop pushing against her side. When his dark, angry eyes snapped up to her face, he took immediate notice of her look of fear and pain. He shook his head and sucked in a breath, lessening the pressure at her side, then shut his eyes, letting the last of the darkness fade just as Akela released a sigh of relief.
Geralt felt like punching himself. Yes, he was angry, and he had every right to be angry, but he would rather kill himself before allowing himself to hurt his child. Her pain had been what he'd attempted to avoid before this whole ordeal, after all.
He didn't say anything else, continuing to treat her wound. Once the bleeding had stopped, he stitched her up and bandaged her. All the while, Akela lay there, trying her best to stay quiet, occasionally releasing a teary sniffle or a ragged breath.
She closed her eyes once she saw him get up to leave and wash the bloody bowl and rags in the river nearby. Gods, what had she done? She hadn't thought, that was for sure. She'd completely disobeyed his orders and followed after him to hunt the kikimora. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stu—
"Sit up." Her eyes opened to see him standing—towering, looming—over her. "You need to eat something," he said, reaching a hand out, and though she was hesitant at first to take it, she did eventually, surprisingly finding him to be gentle as he knelt down and placed a hand at the nape of her neck to help her up. He stayed kneeling until she was steady and had the bowl of broth he'd supposedly gotten from thin air in her hands, and then sat himself down about two feet away from her.
Bracing an arm on the ground behind her, Akela blinked to attempt to clear her vision. She looked down at the broth and her stomach rumbled in anticipation, but all it took was a twinge in her side for her to forget her hunger. She put the bowl on the ground beside her and sighed, her gaze falling on Geralt.
He was looking at her.
She averted her gaze and stared at a tree. Her stomach rumbled again, and she reluctantly reached for the spoon. Her trembling hand attempted to raise it to her lips, but her hand began to tingle, and she lowered it back down almost straight away. Instinctively, she turned back to Geralt.
"Would you like some help?"
A little nod, and he moved closer, stretching his legs out and helping her manoeuvre herself between them. He wrapped his arms around her lower torso, mindful of her injury, and reached for the spoon, touching it to her lips. He did this for as long as it took his raging thoughts to calm, and for her to tell him she'd had enough. Then, he settled back.
"Tell me what was going through your mind."
Akela rubbed at her eyes and sighed. "I don't know."
"You have to. You didn't decide to run after me because Roach told you to, did you?"
"I wanted to fight."
"And what have I said about that?"
"Enough for me to know I should have stayed here."
"Exactly. When I saw you lying there, Akela, I—" He grit his teeth together—hard—at the remembrance. His heart had dropped to his boots when he'd seen her on the other side of the kikimora with her sword. Yes, she could fight, and yes, she was damn good at it, but she wasn't good enough to fight a witcher's battle. If she grew up to fight alongside him, it'd be when he didn't have to worry about her every second and thus lose focus on what he needed to be swinging his weapon at. For now, she stayed behind with Roach, and that had been exactly where he'd left her. Seeing her there had never made him feel more helpless.
He'd hollered her name, his voice like thunder, and Akela had paused for less than two seconds. Apparently, that had been enough time for the monster to get to her. It had whacked her against a tree enough for a massive splinter in the side of the trunk to dig right into her. Thankfully, it hadn't been worse than that. Thankfully, she was still alive.
"I really just wanted to help," she whispered.
"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. Does Lambert need to drill that into you anymore than he already has?"
Her face fell. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah," he said, "you should be. But I'll take it."
"How can you take it?" she asked, voice shaky. "I didn't listen to you."
"I'm taking it," Geralt said, shifting her against him, "because I love you, and I know you won't do it again." He rested his chin on the top of her head and briefly thanked whoever was watching over them for letting his idiotic child live to see another day. "Now, sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
