"I see we're at a stalemate," Geralt said. His grip on his sword shifted slightly, readying for an attack.

Very few people could figure out a Witcher's expression. Even Jaskier with his years of practice usually couldn't tell what Geralt was thinking. But at the moment, Geralt's face was as readable as a book: he wasn't sure what to do. If he attacked, Jaskier would die, but if he left Nik alone he'd still kill Jaskier. The only option was to keep the pressure on, and wait for circumstances to change.

The knife was still pressed firmly against Jaskier's neck. If Nik even so much as shifted, if the handle was just a tad too slippery, if Geralt twitched the wrong way and Nik thought he was attacking—simply waiting for Geralt's perfect chance was too risky.

So Jaskier made it himself. His hands were pinned behind him by Nik's abdomen, but they weren't tied anymore. With as much force as he could muster, Jaskier thrust his hands backward, punching Nik in the ribs as hard as he could.

It was a distraction. A ploy to take Nik's focus off of Geralt so that Geralt could rush in and save the day. But instead of a clean execution, Nik kept his grip on the knife as he was punched. The movement forced the blade against the side of Jaskier's neck, slicing into his flesh as Nik tried to avoid Geralt and his sword.

At least he let Jaskier go. Jaskier fell to the ground, clutching his neck. Blood spilled between his fingers and he tried to apply pressure. "Geralt," he choked, and Geralt was beside him in an instant.

Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier watched Nik slip out the door. Geralt had clearly chosen tending to Jaskier over a fight with Nik. While it was admirable—and probably saving Jaskier's life, considering the urgency with which Geralt was digging through his medicine bag—it was letting Nik escape.

That was a problem for later. Jaskier could hardly even walk, let alone chase after Nik himself. Instead he curled up on his side and tried not to breathe too deeply. The adrenaline was gone, and even keeping his eyes open was too much work. He hurt, from the cuts on his neck to his broken wrist to his throbbing head, and unconsciousness granted him sweet escape.

When he woke up Geralt was still kneeling by his side. They were still in Nik's basement, so Jaskier supposed he couldn't have been out for too long. "Did you catch him?" Jaskier asked. Talking ached, but not talking felt too weird, and the question was important nonetheless.

"No," Geralt replied. "I was stitching you up."

Jaskier raised a hand to the cut on his neck only to feel a bandage. "Thank you."

"Got the one on your ribs, too," Geralt continued. "Do you think you can move?"

"Not quite yet," Jaskier said, wincing. "Give me a minute or two."

"Of course." Geralt packed away the last of his things and sat down next to him. "Jaskier… what happened?"

Jaskier paused. "A lot. First he knocked me out, then I woke up here and—"

"I don't need to know all that. Did he—the other victims were—please tell me he didn't touch you." The concern in Geralt's voice was almost heartwarming, in a way.

"No." Jaskier smiled at him and hoped his teeth weren't too bloody. "You got there in time. You stopped him." He managed to sit up. "Speaking of which, why did you leave?"

"Couldn't let him know I was onto him. I knew he was responsible from the moment you were taken."

"So you weren't fooled?"

Geralt laughed. "Just because you fell for all of his lies didn't mean I was going to. No. As soon as I realized you were missing, I did some research to find Nik's house, came up with a plan, and came here. He set me back half an hour. At most." He stood up. "Think you can stand yet?

Jaskier nodded, and Geralt wrapped an arm around his torso, careful not to hold too tightly. With that Jaskier was able to get up, and they began their trek back to the center of town.

The inn was fairly close. Geralt half-carried Jaskier up the stairs to their room before setting him on his bed. Jaskier sank into the mattress and tried to relax. It was almost impossible, what with his broken ribs screaming every time he breathed, and with the bruises everywhere that kept him from finding a comfortable position, but at least he was in pain on a bed and not a stone floor.

They had only been in the room for a few moments before Geralt frowned. "The room smells wrong," he said.

"Wrong? How so?"

"I can't tell." Geralt sighed. "It might just be your blood. It's overpowering everything else, I just don't know if…" He trailed off. "It's probably nothing. You need to heal."

The sun was setting outside. Geralt strode over to the window, opening the curtains. He took a quick look at the streets below before glancing back at Jaskier. "Get some sleep," he urged. He sat in a chair and began polishing his sword.

Despite the uneasy feeling in his gut, Jaskier couldn't do much other than listen to him.

He awoke some time later to a much stronger, almost overwhelming feeling of dread, accompanied by the feeling of… something pressing down on his body. It was heavy. Jaskier didn't dare let whatever it was know he was awake. He lay on his side, facing the wall, and cracked open one eye to try and catch a glimpse.

Instead of a glimpse he saw a shadow. He couldn't make out any specific details, but it was big. Fear rushed into his veins. Jaskier wanted to run. He wanted to throw this thing off his chest, flee, and never look back, but what he wanted was impossible. He was still too weak, too injured, and now he was going to pay the price. He was going to die.

And then, as swiftly as a bolt of lightning, the shadow moved. The pressure on his bed didn't. Before Jaskier could even process what that meant, there was a strangled scream from a voice Jaskier had gotten too accustomed to lately.

Nik lay there on top of him, a sword sticking out of his back. "He thought if he was still I couldn't see him," Geralt said, thrusting the sword a bit further through Nik. "Idiot."

"Oh my gods," Jaskier said, his voice very small. "You were right. He must have been hiding somewhere and waited—Geralt, you've saved me again."

Geralt grunted. He pulled his sword out of Nik's back, wiped it off, and resheathed it without another word before heading back to his bed.

The corpse still lay sprawled across Jaskier's body. Moonlight reflected off the knife still clenched in Nik's grasp, and Jaskier pushed it away from his neck with a shaky breath. "Well," he said finally. "It's over now, I guess."

When Geralt didn't reply, he shot a glance across the room. He was still awake. He just didn't want to talk to him. That was fine. Jaskier didn't need Geralt to respond. "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."

"Go to bed." The response was slightly muffled from the pillow Geralt had mushed his face into.

Jaskier sat up and pushed Nik's body off him. It slid onto the floor with a wet thud. "I should have trusted your judgment earlier."

Gerald sighed at that, clearly resigned to the fact he was going to have to talk to Jaskier. "You almost died," he said finally. "You don't have to apologize for that."

"But I got us into this mess."

"And I let my guard down for you to be captured in the first place. You're a bard, Jaskier. I can't blame you for not having martial knowledge. You did what you thought was right, and I did the same."

Jaskier lay back down. "I'm still sorry."

"We both made mistakes. Important thing is that you're safe. Now go to bed and shut up. I'll need you rested and healed before we go off chasing another monster."

Part of Jaskier wanted to know exactly when that would be. Another part wanted to keep talking to Geralt until all his worries were settled, until the sun came up and the lurking shadows of the night were banished for another day.

Most of him, though, just wanted to rest. He was safe now. Geralt would be his same old, equally untalkative self in the morning, and perhaps some of his bruises would have faded somewhat by then too. Jaskier let his head sink into the pillow and closed his eyes. Geralt was right. He needed sleep.