Dapandapod

“Oh yeah?” Geralt asks, eyes glinting in a way that does not bode well (but stirs something rather nice and warm and fluttery in his chest).

Then the witcher launches himself at Jaskier, gripping his shoulders and rubbing his wet hair over as much of Jaskier as he can manage.

The Jaskier in question shrieks as cold, wet hair is being pressed against his skin, and he shoves at Geralt to get away from him.

“You! Absolute brute you! Ugh! Eeek! Stop! Stop it, you big oaf!”

“You did this to yourself,” Geralt says, changing his grip to make Jaskier stand still. But Jaskier is a slippery bastard, and it takes shoving Jaskier against a wall to finally trap him and keep him in place.

They might be a little out of breath after their tousle, just a little bit. Jaskier has to accept his fate as a human towel, seeing as he has nowhere left to run. Geralt’s hands are on his shoulder and hip, his forehead pressed against the side of his neck.

“You are terrible,” Jaskier mutters. “I’m all cold now.”

That is a lie.

Jaskier is getting warmer by the second, Geralt’s body against his doing wonders for his temperature. Again, Geralt changes his grip, and yup. Warm and toasty now.

“Better?” Geralt murmurs, angling his head so that he can nose at the collar of Jaskier’s tunic, his cheek pressed against the side of Jaskier’s face. His arms are wrapped around his back, and Jaskier can’t help but sigh and lean into it.

“Yes. Thank you.”

His own arms come up to rest over Geralt’s shoulders, and for a long moment they just stand there. That stirring inside his chest is getting louder, the flutters evolving into a stormwind, wrecking him with a mere touch of lips to the side of his neck.

They stand there for a long while, not talking.

Jaskier has visited many places during his travels.

Two bodies lay sprawled on the ground, and Geralt ran towards them, his balance working against him. The last few steps he stumbles, his knees hitting the gravel and glass hard, but he doesn’t care. Geralt ignores the alchemist completely, focusing on Jaskier, pale and unmoving.

He has no idea what the explosion was supposed to do, but he suspects something didn’t go as it was supposed to. Jaskier’s clothes are torn, some of the glass sticking out of the sole of his boot, mixed with blood. A faint glittering powder still hangs in the air, and they can’t stay.

After a quick examination, Geralt dares pick Jaskier up, his head hanging limply against Geralt’s shoulder. Terror, heavy and sickening, churns in his gut. His ears are ringing too much for him to pick up a breath, a heartbeat, but he refuses to believe anything but Jaskier being alive. On his chest, his medallion hums and then starts to vibrate furiously.

Geralt changes his grip and cradles Jaskier’s head towards himself, and starts to run.

A second explosion sets off, somehow louder despite the distance he managed to put between them. He is thrown forward, catching himself on his already bruised and bleeding knee, refusing to let go of Jaskier. This time, he can smell the fire, the ozone, the chaos let loose.

Thank fuck he got Jaskier out of there.

As soon as the medallion calms down, Geralt moves again. His knees hurt and his back feels slightly too hot, but he needs to get away from here.There is no telling if there is going to be a third explosion, and he will not be around to find out.

When he deems them far away enough, Geralt carefully puts Jaskier down. The terror is still laying heavily in his gut, making his fingers feel stiff and his throat constrict with worry. Jaskier hasn't moved yet, not even a twitch of his eyes.

Geralt leans in close, pressing his ear to the torn clothing of Jaskier’s chest. Despite the now soft ringing in his ears, he picks up a faint heartbeat. When he leans up to Jaskier’s face, he can feel his breath against his cheek.

Jaskier lives.

Something unclenches in his stomach, making it easier to breathe. Now he only needs to wake up…

But he tight coil of anxiety in his stomach doesn’t ease up, so Geralt busies himself. The fine clothes are more or less ruined anyway, so he cuts them off where he needs to. The pieces of fabric that are

salvageable he puts to the side for safe keeping. No need to throw it all away.

The boots are a bit trickier, with the glass sticking out of it, but Geralt is used to this. Jaskier stirs for the first time as he removes them and cleans the wounds out. His nose scrunches up and he makes a grunting sound. It shouldn’t give him such relief, to see Jaskier in pain, but it lets him believe that things should be alright...

When Jaskier is all bandaged up and put in one of Geralt’s bigger tunics, Geralt finally lets himself care for himself.

His right knee also has glass splinters, his trousers slightly torn where it scraped over the ground. It will have to be mended, but otherwise he is unfairly alright. Except for the ringing in his ears.

It takes another two hours for Jaskier to wake up. Darkness has crept up on them, and Geralt made a small campfire to keep the bard warm. He is not sure where Roach went with their camping gear, but she will be back eventually. She always is.

Jaskier pulls in a deep breath, his heartbeat picking up, and then he groans softly. Instantly Geralt is at his side, taking his hand in his.

“Jaskier?” He mumbles, letting his other hand cup Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier startles when he touches him, he tries to sit up, almost headbutting Geralt in the process.

“It’s fine! It’s just me, it’s alright.” Geralt tries to push Jaskier back down again, but the bard looks around terrified.

“Geralt?” He asks, a little too loud.

“I’m here.”

Their eyes meet, and Jaskier’s eyes get even wider.

“Geralt?”

“I’m here. You are safe.”

It doesn’t help.

Jaskier looks terrified, shoving Geralt’s hands away and touching his ears.

Oh.

Oh no.

Of course, Jaskier was much closer to the explosion than Geralt was. Of course his ears and his more humanlike healing would not be better yet.

“I can’t hear you.” Jaskier says, again too loud, on the verge of tears. “I can’t hear anything.”

Geralt can only watch when Jaskier curls in on himself, fingers to his ears, looking terrified.

“The alchemist…” Jaskier whispers, eyes returning to Geralt. “I don’t…”

Geralt opens his arms in invitation and Jaskier crawls desperately into his embrace. Cheek to cheek, they sit pressed together, Jaskier’s fingers shaking where it grips at Geralt a little too tightly.

“You will heal.” Geralt says. “I will keep you safe.”

When Geralt talks, Jaskier seems to relax just a little. Maybe he can’t hear the words, maybe not even his voice, but he should be able to feel the vibration of Geralt’s throat. They adjust, Jaskier pressing his forehead to the side of Geralt’s neck, his nose cold and breath hot.

Geralt keeps talking, and slowly Jaskier keeps relaxing.

Eventually they resort to Jaskier’s notebook. Jaskier flips several pages quickly, hiding its secrets from Geralt, until he finds a blank page.

And from the light of the fire, Geralt scribbles it again. It is a bit hard, with Jaskier between his arms, but none of them wants to let go now.

“You will heal. I will keep you safe.”

And when morning comes, Jaskier seems to believe him. His hearing returns slowly, so slowly. No songs are being sung, no notes played, for a long time.

Some nights are worse than others, the ringing in Jaskier’s ears so loud he can’t sleep.

Geralt finds himself talking more, because it makes Jaskier smile and reach for his hand, even on days when Jaskier can’t make out what he is saying. They have found other ways to communicate.