The house is on fire.
The orange glow of the flames and cracking of burning wood rouse him, and Jaskier can only stare in horrified disbelief when he opens his eyes to the house he thought he'd escaped, back in the room where he'd been waiting to be butchered.
The door is wide open, and he can see the the reflection of the encroaching flames in the small puddles of his own blood on the floor from when he'd been dragged in, reaching as far as to glint merrily off of the discarded bear trap across the room.
The flames grow more intense as he watches, until finally his brain catches up with his body, and he realizes he needs to move. He sucks in a breath, relieved that the smoke has yet to reach this corner of the building, then hauls himself up against the wall with some difficulty, leaning heavily on his good leg and trying to ignore the shooting pain in his calf as he goes.
Jaskier limps to the doorway, having to catch the edge of the wood at the entrance when the pain becomes too intense and he trips. He breathes for a moment, now feeling the radiating heat of the fire, and almost cries in dismay when he looks out into the main room.
The wood by the entrance has given way, the door completely blocked by flaming debris. He's trapped.
He panics, suddenly short of breath, one hand gripping the frame hard when a sudden cool breeze blows past his cheek from the other end of the house, from the basement. The hidden door!
Miraculously, the hall remains untouched by the inferno, and Jaskier is able to make his way to the stairwell, once again leaning heavily against the wall, hurried by the heat at his back.
The stairs seem to extend forever, disappearing into the dark of the basement, and Jaskier has to swallow back a sudden wave of fear at the knowledge of what lies at the bottom, even as he descends downward, fingertips gripping at the cracks between the wood planks that make up the walls to try and put as little pressure as possible on his bad leg. He hasn't even gotten a single foot on the dirt floor when there's a thunderous roaring from the top of the stairs, and the doorway, seconds before having been completely untouched by the flames, is now engulfed.
Even if he wanted to, there's no turning back now.
He once again feels the cool caress of the breeze across his face, hope guiding him across the room and toward the once hidden door, the world outside shining an inviting and calming blue. He makes it halfway across the space when his foot catches on something and it sends him crashing to the ground.
Jaskier lands on his elbows, grimacing as he twists around to see a hand clutching at his ankle extending from beneath his jacket. He tries scramble backwards, kicking at the appendage and accidentally knocking the jacket away. The woman's corpse comes into view, wide unseeing eyes somehow focused on him, her other arm clutching the bodies of both of her children, their little faces shallow and grey, accusing in their unseeing gazes as flies swarm about them in a dizzying hum.
"You left us…"
The children speak in unison, their voices discordant and their jaws flapping loosely as though they are being puppeteered, their movements jerky in their decay.
The hand on his ankle tightens its hold, pulling him towards them, and Jaskier can only cry out at the flare of pain, struggling to process anything through this new horror.
"You let them die!" the mother howls, voice graveled and low, raising in pitch with every word.
The bodies burst into flames, flesh giving way to blackening bones beneath, burning at Jaskier with its intensity.
Then everything comes to the grinding halt, the noise stops, the darkness suddenly enveloping them all as the house disappears from around them, leaving nothing but the silently burning corpses and Jaskier in the void.
"And now it's your turn." The woman's voice singsongs, morphing into the deep chilling voice of their killer, changing direction from in front of him to directly in his ear.
Jaskier whips around just in time to see the man standing over him, axe raised in the air as he swings it down and through his extended leg with a crack of bones and squelching of flesh. The pain is blinding, and he screams.
He screams, eyes snapping open as he launches up, grappling for a moment when he's caught around the shoulders and pulled into something solid and warm, but he's burning and it's stifling. He continues to struggle, pushing at the mass as he twists away, only for his wrists to be caught in a firm grip, being gathered together and close to his chest which immobilizes him slightly, though he still makes an effort to kick out, gasping in pain when he moves his bad leg. He tries to ignore it, tries again to get away, crying out when a hand closes over the back of his head and pushes him in closer.
He's hyperventilating, can feel the rush of lightheadedness at the lack of air, and he's too hot, but he refuses to give in.
Something cold and wet brushes across his cheek.
"…skier, Jaskier!"
And he knows that voice, knows that it means safety. He starts to hear noises beyond the rushing of his blood in his ears, starts to make out the shapes and colors beyond the white flash of panic, starts to smell things beyond the lingering scent of decay and ash.
It's Geralt he's being pushed against, being hugged to, and when the cool sensation returns to his face, he realizes that Yennefer is there as well, with a blessedly cold cloth in hand, dabbing the sweat from his brow. She looks concerned.
"G'rlt, Y'nn…"
He can't see Geralt's face, but feels him shift, releasing his wrists to run a hand soothingly along his bruised back. Yennefer lets her shoulders drop, relieved as she moves the cloth away, using her other hand to push back the hair plastered to his forehead. It feels nice and he closes his eyes at the sensation.
"There you are Bard."
He wants to respond, but he's really struggling to do anything beyond getting his breathing under control at the moment, so he makes a little humming noise between breaths and leans further against Geralt.
Yennefer keeps her hand in place for a moment, then flips it, gauging his temperature with the back of her fingers and pulling back with a slight frown.
"His fever is getting worse."
Jaskier hears the scrape of a chair as it's pushed back, and Yennefer is standing.
"I'm going to make him some tea to help bring it down."
He feels more than hears Geralt respond, content to just sit and calm down, but he must lose some time because the next thing he knows, he's being being leaned back and a steaming cup is being pushed under his nose, which he makes an effort to hold, but is ultimately more supported by Yennnefer's steady hand beneath it as he takes a cautious sip.
It's bitter, and almost spicy, but it's been diluted with a fair amount of honey, to which he's grateful, because it makes it easier to finish. Yenn must see the face he pulls regardless because she's quick to assure him,
"It's mostly yarrow and valerian, though I've added some ginger and honey as well. It'll help with the fever and hopefully also sooth your nerves a bit."
And it really seems to be working, as he's already beginning to drift off by the time the cup is half empty, eyelids drooping of their own accord even as he tries to shake the wave of fatigue.
"Don't fight it, Jaskier, you need to rest." Yenn chides, taking the cup from his hands, which seems to be a signal to Geralt, who helps him lay back down against the pillows.
But the image of the children from his dream settle at the front of his mind, and in his fevered state, he can't recall the difference between his dreams and reality. A wave of desolation falls over him like an unwanted blanket and even as he loses his fight with sleep, he mumbles out "I couldn't save them," as a single tear escapes his closed eyes.
A/N: I have no actual clue if that came across as scary or not but if it were my dream I wouldn't want to go back to sleep for sure, our poor guy. More comfort to come, just was too much to fit into one chapter! This next one should be the final one!