Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of the witcher. Those are property of Mr Sapkowski and I using Netflix series canon mixed with the books.

Warning : Description of burns, blood and body marks. Some violence (nothing too graphic). Mostly anxiety and depressive state. Swearing. Humiliation.

In this one, there is an extra of very bad emotional state and bad memories from childhood.

Chapter 5 - Day 3 - Julian

Jaskier woke up the next morning, cold and feeling empty, but the physical pain had receded grandly. Pushing on shaking arms, he sat up and looked down at his own body. The bruises were still ugly but he could breathe normally. He got on his feet slowly to counteract his general weakness and took one of the buckets to pee in it. At least he wouldn't endure the humiliation to piss himself again. His pants still smelt bad as a reminder. Then he took his clothes and put them on. His favorite shirt was dirty and blooded. What a shame.

The textile was cold and a bit damp. He put his jacket on next, shivering as it plastered the cold fabric of his shirt on his skin. Then he took his coat but put it on the ground and sat on it. He stayed a few minutes like that, legs crossed, staring at the wall, till the absurdity of the whole situation hit him back full force.

He was usually a very active and quite joyful man, even if it had been really tamed the last two years. He kept the facade when he performed but he had less opportunities to feel joy. Yet being as apathic as he was now wasn't that common for him. Sure, it happened more often than not since the mountain. He had his long depressive phases but he had found his way back on his feet and to a very active life once again. But...

The world itself became hell. Darkness and horrors everywhere. He tried to shield himself at the very beginning. He was thinking that there was still some place where everyone would be welcome and live in peace. He was thinking that the madness of some crowned head wouldn't be enough to flip everyone's mind. He was thinking that art and celebration could still bring people together and put the shadows at bay. Bleobheris proved him wrong. Steel and fire could destroy everything.

Geralt was the kind of person that never wanted to be involved or take a side in conflict. I used to tell him that he was getting involved no matter what. I never realised what I truly meant until that day. There was no such thing as stepping away. In his case, doing nothing meant letting the elves being butchered. Yet he was no warrior. Becoming the Sandpiper was the most rewarding thing he'd done since forever. Before that, what did he achieve except fame and wealth ?

Hearing that, young me would just laugh. That was almost all I wanted. But it was an empty goal like everything else that touched Geralt's era… He was losing the battle for him but he was burning bright in his descent doing good for others. Being the Sandpiper was something he was proud of. This was important. It had meaning. Purpose...

And now... The fragile little bricks he had found the strength to put together from his desperately meaningless life to finally do something good were crushed under the boot of some corrupted judge. Fuck… He fought against the tears. That elven healer just sacrificed them for the greater good. He understood that he had a precarious position from the get go but he always thought he would just die in one of his attempts to make diversion or just in another raid. To have a kind of heroic ending. What a fucked up chain of events ! And she healed him for nothing... At least, when he was dying, he might have the chance to succumb before that pernicious inquisitor got to find anything. She died for nothing. He lived for nothing. I wish I died on that mountain in a stupid accident. I would have ended my life in a sweet illusion.

The hole in his heart felt somehow bigger. He got on his feet the best he could in his weakened state and slumped against the wall in the corner of his cell. Head in the shadow, he let himself cry.

###

Lost in his dark thoughts he ignored the passing of time. This is the metallic sound of the door opening that pushed him back to reality.

- "I will never cease to enjoy seeing you so miserable."

He recognised the voice. The hateful guard he scared was back. He wanted to be sarcastic but he knew that if he'd replied, only pain would come. He turned his head slightly to look at the man. He had a plate and a new pitcher in his hands. He stayed at the door, clearly waiting for his reaction but there was something in his eyes that screamed fear behind anger. Well at least, I really scared the shit out of him. He was probably there only to prove himself he was stronger than his fear. Jaskier sighed and turned his head to the wall once again. He didn't want the man to see his tears.

- "If I had the choice I would…"

Jaskier shut his mind to the hateful rhetoric. The guard basically hated elves and him because he was a celebrity. The bard guessed there was some jealousy in there but he didn't care. He just wanted the man to go. So he waited… The guard eventually grew annoyed by his lack of reaction and threw some of his food to the ground before leaving. Jaskier waited for the man to really quit the building to move. As he suspected, that guard probably just came to get over the fear, so he didn't stay long. Maybe he would come back but for the moment Jaskier was relieved that he would not watch over him, because it was the promise of plenty of unpleasant moments he was not in a hurry to live.

He turned round and looked at the ground. He was content to find the pitcher intact near the door. He was so thirsty… In another hand, the plate was half emptied as it had been more dropped than laid. Then he could see near the wall on his right, two pieces of bread that had been thrown in the cell. He scoffed slightly. If that guard thought that was humiliating then he was very wrong. I spent most of my first year as a traveling bard eating bread thrown at me. I ate dirty foods. He moved to take what was given to him and sat back on his coat. He used the second bucket as a table.

He really didn't want to eat but he forced himself to. The fast healing was digging in his too small reserves of energy. If he wanted to make it through all of this - I am still not sure I want to live - he had to get his strength back. The puree was tasteless and the bread molted but he ate it all. The water still had an awful taste but he drank nonetheless.

In the back of his head he thought about the misconceptions his social status could carry. He was a noble man by his lineage but, even if he truly appreciated some luxury, he was far from being too soft. He didn't want to sleep in satin sheets and pyjamas all the time. He didn't need it at all. He looked at his blooded lace shirt. Yeah sure, it was his current favorite outfit but it was not the first one to be covered by blood and dirt and… I followed Geralt everywhere. I lived outside with no comfort whatsoever. I ate dubious things he was hunting. And I loved it because I was free and with him. He sighed.

Of course he would think of him. All the time… He never stopped.

"The worst thing is..." He muttered. "that I came to the conclusion that you were right. And I began to believe that I was the real cause of your suffering. That I deserved all the pain. It took me so much energy and will power to move forward. To make a single step toward something new. You know I tried to think about what was wrong with me. Some could say I was too much, by all means. Too loud. Too agitated. Too joyful. Too big… Too verbose… Too sensitive… Too dramatic… I was a burden. I was a pain in the ass. I was useless… disposable… Yeah that's what I am… all of that…"

Like the whole shitty situation he was in was already a proof in itself. Well loud, agitated and verbose were quite debatable for the last few days… but otherwise he often was.

Jaskier just stopped muttering for a moment. He was overwhelmed. Tears were running freely on his cheeks. Those thoughts were from the darkest part of him. The part that was suffering for never really fit in. Over the years he made his difference a strength. But for two years now he was feeling like this little boy he was once. Enable to really feel worthy, being told he was doing wrong all the time.

He knew that was wrong but the pain of the heart of a grown up man that experienced so many ways of love made it harder than the insecurities of his childhood. But in a way, a lot of people put those ideas in his head, from that early age.

Julian, stop humming in class. Julian, behave. Julian, you are stupid. Julian, stay still. Julian, your parents will be very disappointed to learn that you … insert anything from the list : sing, dance, drink, steal, escape, talk… breathe… be… That Julian me was the constant failure and my official noble pedigree. Two things I choose to put aside from my life. When I chose to become Jaskier, I arose new. I didn't change per se. But Jaskier was the part of me that believed in himself. That pushed forward against all odds and found his way into the world. I wasn't successful all the time but muses built my victories over the time. Twenty two years I lived in that sweet illusion I was worth it. Until that fatal rejection… Falling from that far hurt too much. But I refused to return to the Julian boy. I got a new name for the new life I was trying to achieve. But even the Sandpiper is going to break and fall onto the pit.

He heard a tiny squeak. The mice were out. Two of them were sniffing the air around the bucket, the third jumped on it.

- "Aww, you're hungry, little ones." He said just to distract himself from self pity.

He moved slowly forward to have a better look. He was still crying and his vision was blurry. The mouse on the bucket stayed and looked back at him.

- "You're Gordon, aren't you ?" He tried to ignore the bad things swirling inside of him. "Yeah, that's you. You got bigger ears than your friends and a small mark on your tail. I should probably find a name for the others, right ? You know I'm good with names."

He sniffed and stared blankly at the mouse. He had no creative spark. Of course he couldn't have. He was experiencing so many bad things. But he needed that spark to escape from all of this. He waited a little bit longer. His reality stayed the same. Pain and emptiness. So he cried even more. Today he was Julian, whatever he would try to convince himself he was not. There was no need to fight it. Because for the moment there was no light in his heart. Jaskier was dying, and the Sandpiper was struggling.

- "Maybe tomorrow." He added smiling at the little rodent on his plate that was now feasting on the crumbs he left.

It was a false smile, like the one he used all the time performing to hide his feelings. Maybe I could fool myself ?

Hard chapter to put together. It suffered from some heavy rewriting.

I decided to use his name Julian differently from the show. Not really like the books too, but I took the fact that he hides it for a long time, and put shame on the top.

See you soon.