#everyone cries

"Venom?"

Venomshank heard Sword's voice and turned to look at him from where he was sitting. Sword's voice was small, shaking slightly as he called out to his mentor.

"Yes, Sword?" Venomshank answered back. He noticed Sword's odd stance, how he kept his weight off one leg. Did he hurt himself again? Venomshank pushed himself up to standing and tried to ignore the numbness he felt in his left leg. Sword was more important right now. He forced himself to move forward, his newly acquired limp obvious to his mentee. Venomshank watched as Sword's pained expression shifted to one of concern before he winced in pain again.

"...I know it isn't normal for this to happen, so I thought maybe you knew what was going on...?" It sounded like a question, but Venomshank knew it wasn't. Just before he could ask what was going on, Sword lifted his pant leg to reveal his leg.

Green crawled up his leg from just under Sword's skin, following the path of his veins. Venomshank had a feeling he knew what this was. And the thought scared him tremendously. Of course it would happen to Sword. Of course it was him. It made sense now.

Venomshank let out a shaky sigh and leaned onto the closest object he knew could hold his weight. He didn't want it to happen like this.

"...how far up is it?" He forced himself to ask. He didn't want to, but he did. Sword shifted uncomfortably in place, and Venomshank watched as he stopped himself halfway through reaching down at his leg to instead ball his fists up at his sides.

"...a little past my knee, I think," Sword murmured. "It only started hurting yesterday, and I didn't notice it until then... somehow..." He looked away from Venomshank, ashamed it took him this long to notice. He should have seen it sooner, in his opinion.

Venomshank knew he should have connected the dots sooner, at least. His own leg had been growing numb over the course of a week, and he did suspect something but pushed it aside to focus on training Sword. He felt it was his own fault this got as far as it had. He didn't know what to say, or how to explain any of this to Sword. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't want to drop everything onto Sword outright, but sugarcoating it would do no good. And Venomshank knew this. He didn't even think this would happen in the first place.

Venomshank almost pushed off what he was using to hold himself up. He wanted to hold the scared Inphernal he took in all those years ago, the Inphernal he saw as a son at this point. He wanted to comfort him, tell him everything would be okay, even if it really wouldn't be. Instead, he slowly sat down on the floor and beckoned Sword closer.

Sword shuffled closer, eventually sitting down just in front of his mentor. Venomshank took in a deep breath, preparing to explain what was happening. Before he could even start, however, Darkheart's voice trills from the darkness, "Always bonding without us. We're hurt, truly."

The chaos deity stepped out of one of the shadowed corners of the room. Both Venomshank and Sword turned to look at him.

"...you both are quiet," Darkheart murmured suspiciously, his constant smile pulling downward just slightly at the edges at the tense atmosphere. "What did we miss?"

Sword shifted in place, the movement only hurting his leg more. He was really trying not to let it get to him, but with how Venomshank's reacting... he's scared. He didn't know what was happening, that was obvious. And he only gets more scared when Darkheart's smile dropped completely upon noticing Sword's leg.

"...ah," vocalized the deity. "We see." He turns to his brother on the floor, sat in front of the mortal he knows he's slowly killing.

"We told you this would happen," Darkheart sneers, his smile returning with a cruel edge. "You knew this would happen eventually. We hope you're happy." Despite the harsh tone, the cruelty radiatibg from him, he does care for Venomshank. He's just hoping this will get his brother to see reason and put distance between himself and Sword.

Venomshank just took it. He didn't care about Darkheart's methods of keeping him alive. But he did care about Sword.

"...pack your things, Sword," Venomshank said softly. And Sword listened, because what else was he supposed to do? He got up and pushed through the pain as he left.

Darkheart watched him leave before musing, "And then there were three." He looked back at his brother, his smile fading once more. "Where are you going to leave him?" He asked.

"...perhaps with Zuka," Venomshank answered. After a pause, he added, "I trust him with Sword. He's taken care of him before. I've no doubt he can do so now."

"And you'll walk with that leg?" Darkheart teased, though there was an undercurrent of concern in his question.

Venomshank pulled himself up, leaning once more on whatever he could reach. "I'll manage," he whispered.

"Sure you will," Darkheart snarked smoothly, his smile quirked back up playfully. "We can bring him. All you need to do is say goodbye."

Venomshank deflated at the prospect, but nodded solemnly. Sword hopped down the stairs not long after, yelping in pain when he landed. His packed bag hit the floor as he clutched at his leg. After a moment or two, the pain died down enough for him to pick his bag up and stumble towards the pair of deities.

"...okay, I'm all ready," He stated hesitantly.

Darkheart tilted his head expectantly at his brother, who also hesitated before he let out a sigh.

"...Sword. I... will not be able to train you further," Venomshank started. "Do not blame yourself for this. It is my own fault."

Sword opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Venomshank raised a hand. "I care for you. You know this, I would not train you otherwise. This care is going to kill the both of us if I let it go on," Venomshank explained. "For this reason... we must separate. Permanently."

Sword dropped his bag again in shock. A small piece of him wanted to reach out to his mentor, to be held as he cried like in his youth.

"I do not hate you," Venomshank's voice cut through the shock clouding Sword's mind. "Never could I hate you. I am trying to protect you. I am sorry it must be this way. Know that I will care about you even after you leave. But for both of our safety, you cannot stay with me."

"...so this is goodbye?" Sword asked, his voice cracking as he tried to hold back tears. He failed, only because Venomshank nodded solemnly once more. Darkheart shuffled awkwardly in place before stepping to stand next to Sword. He placed his hand on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be taking you to Zuka. Say goodbye to 'Shanks. He's gonna miss ya," he told Sword. Sword didn't try to speak, it'd be incomprehensible, so he instead moved closer until he could fall into one more hug from his mentor.

Venomshank finally managed to say that dreadful word, one of finality. "Goodbye, Sword."

Darkheart was the one to pull them apart, gently tugging Sword out of Venomshank's arms. He let his mentee go too easily. It's better this way, he thought to himself. Darkheart also picked up Sword's bag before leading him away.

That isn’t something you were used to, being comfortable. Your life had been tumultuous from the start and you had hardened yourself accordingly. Everything you had you’d earned as a journeying blacksmith; working whatever you could to make a sale. Now though, having access to any workshop, material, or tradesman the continent could offer, you were at the height of your craft.

But still, nothing could ever compare to the blade you forged for Geralt.

It was stunning, perfectly balanced, crafted from your best steel and iron Geralt had been gifted from the mines of Mahakam. The ornate curve of the hilt took you days to perfect and the faceted garnet you’d set within the pommel shone brilliantly with a clarity that royal houses across the continent would envy.

“It’s exceptional,” he murmured, completely in awe, while examining your work, “how you manage to make your blades look so intricate without sacrificing quality, I’ll never understand.”

You bit your smile to keep yourself from gushing as you watched him wield the sword as if it was an extension of him. And it should be, as you crafted it with him in mind.

“Whoever buys this will be one lucky bastard,” he said as he came out of a mock-parry and pirouette.

“Oh, I’m not selling it!” you said, shaking your head at him as he sheathed the weapon.

“What? Y/N this could get you four maybe five hundred Novigrad crowns! Did someone commission you for it?”

“No, no, it’s a gift.”

“Y/N you are far too generous.” He admonished, attempting to hand the sword back to you.

“Hush, it’s for you.” You say, laying your hands over his, your eyes sparkling.

Gods the way he looked at you then. The way his face softened when you laid your hands over his, how his breath hitched when you took a step towards him. Your bodies so close, eyes flitting from his hooded lids to his lips, and when you finally –

“We’re just about there, darling!” Jaskier sang, pulling you out of your reverie just as the familiar ache began pulling at your lower belly.

“Ah! Y-yes! Wonderful!”

“Well look at you, you’re blushing! Are you remembering the last time we were here?” He teased flirtatiously, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Mm you know me well,” you lied, quickly taking his hand in yours to get it off your thigh. “How much farther, would you say? I’m starving.”

“Not too long, darling.” He said softly, glad that you were watching the forest with rapt attention, and praying the sting of your deflection wouldn’t be too obvious should you turn to meet his eyes. You didn’t turn to look at him though, and that filled the bard with both relief and immense sadness.

Jaskier wasn’t a fool, he recognized your guilt, sensed the way your heart longed for another. But every now and then, when it was just the two of you, he was sure he saw joy in your eyes. You loved him, maybe not quite as he loved you, but he was certain you loved him.

She just loves him more. He smiled at you sadly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand in silent resignation.

**

“God, I fucking love these beds!” you sighed blissfully, rolling onto your back. The pair of you had meant to get your room and then head out into the village to find work but you hadn’t been able to ignore the fire the earlier memories had ignited.

“Careful my sweet, or I’ll start to think you’re only with me for the fine accommodations.” Jaskier chanced, hoping you’d finally say the three words he so desperately wanted to hear you say, and see that you meant it.

“Ha! Shut up, Jask.” You laughed lightly, snuggling into his arms where you couldn’t catch the disappointment in his eyes, and where he couldn’t see the sadness in yours. Don’t go there, Y/N, you thought, Jask is Jask, and he loves you just fine.  

“Why don’t you let me,” you whisper, peppering his neck and jaw with kisses between words, desperate to get your mind off your witcher, “show you how much I love you?”

“Aa-euhm…” Jaskier let out a breathless squeal as your hand creeped between his thighs and he let himself be lost in your touch. Maybe, he thought, good enough could be enough.

**

You’d given up on the idea to go out to find work long before the sun had set on the village, but that surely didn’t keep work from finding you. The pair of you had barely settled yourselves at the table when you were recognized and showered in contracts.

“Please, madam, I know it’s not the priceless blades you normally work with, but my pots and pans are in desperate need to be replaced –”

“Of course, miss Eldridge,” you interrupted the inn’s owner gently, placing a light hand over hers to calm her nerves, “it would be a pleasure to help you. I’ve recently been working with new casting molds, and it would be an honour to sell you my first.”

“Oh, my! Thank you, Y/N, thank you!”

“No, thank you – this stew is easily the best we’ve ever had! It would be a crime if you weren’t able to keep serving.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” she laughed humbly, giving your arm a squeeze in thanks before walking back to the kitchen.

You were beaming as you watched the woman practically skip back behind the heavy wooden door.

“What? Why are you staring?” you asked Jaskier, bringing your beer up for a long sip.

“I love watching you work; you shine like the stars on a winter’s night.” He said, reaching over to hold your hand in his.

“Ugh, Jask,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose at his poetics. “You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased him lightly, as you’d done many times before, but this time something flashed in his eyes.

“Hey! I know you were never showered in compliments when you were with Geralt, but-”

“What?!” you interrupted, practically spitting out your last sip.

Jaskier merely leaned back in his seat and gave you a one-shouldered shrug. You could tell he was trying to be aloof but in the six months you’d been together, the topic of Geralt had been a like a landmine. Someone always got hurt, actually, you both ended up hurt.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m not wrong here, love.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jask. It was a beautiful sentiment, really! I’m just – y-you know how I am with this kind of stuff.”

“I know, dear” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink.

“I adore your work,” you added, your nerves heightened by his apparent sense of calm, “I’m just not… always comfortable being the subject.”

“My expressions of love make you uncomfortable now?” he scoffed, looking up at you with big, sad eyes.

“No! No, Jask. T-that’s not what I meant!” you put your drink down and scooted closer to him to take both his hands in yours. “Jaskier, please… I love you. This is how I love, it-it’s who I am, it’s how I am. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll be your star.”

Jaskier only shook his head slowly as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve seen you in love, Y/N. I believe you love me,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze, “but you’re not in love with me.”

“That isn’t true, Jask.” You whispered, blinking back heavy tears. You held his hands so tightly now, as if afraid he’d just disappear into thin air before you.

“It is though, and that’s okay.”

“Jaskier…”

“You know, you always use my name,” he said, nodding slightly as he thought, “not always my full name, but alas.”

You opened your mouth to disagree but couldn’t bring yourself to use a pet name, and so your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish. The bard looked at you knowingly with his large, knowing eyes, full of love but still heavy with sadness.

“Jaskier,” you finally conceded, feeling yourself crumble under his heavy gaze, “what’s happening?” you asked, your voice coming out of you like a strangled whisper.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I can’t lose you too.”

“‘Too’.” He repeated flatly.

You wanted to comfort him, to correct him, but nothing was coming to you. He wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him now.

“Why are we doing this now, Jask? I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were happy,” you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

“Look, I’m,” he tried, his own voice breaking despite himself, “I know I can’t compare with him.” He waited a beat to see if you’d interrupt him with a correction and when you didn’t, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know how you feel. How you’ve… been feeling. Y/N, Geralt is here. He walked in not long ago, and he’s sitting at the back the of bar.”

Everything went blurry. You could tell he was still talking to you it was like your ears were stuffed with cotton – everything was muffled but too loud. You were going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Every inch of you was screaming to turn around and look for him, but you were frozen in place like a deer who’d spotted the archer and heard the bow snap but just stood stock-still and let the arrow hit.

“Y/N,” Jaskier pulled your hands closer to him, pulling you back to reality along with them, “I made the decision that I’m okay being your second choice,” he swallowed thickly before continuing, “but now I need you to make a choice.”

You felt as though you’d just been struck. He was looking at you with too much kindness, too much understanding, too much compassion. Holding his gaze made you feel as though a knife was being twisted into your chest, but you were so afraid that if you looked away, he’d leave you.

“My dove,” he says softly as if reading your mind, “I love you and no matter what you chose I’ll be there for you, always. I just want you to be truly happy.”  

You squeezed your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling, but upon feeling him get up to leave the table, your eyes shot open and you let the tears fall.

Very softy, Jaskier cradled your face in his hand and gave your forehead a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going to head upstairs… I’ll see you up there?” he whispered hopefully.

You nodded up at him wordlessly and let the tears fall as you watched him head up the stairs.

Left alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your cheek until you tasted blood to keep yourself from openly sobbing. The bustle of the inn allowed you some sense of privacy, which you appreciated, but it also exacerbated your loneliness. Letting out a shaky breath, you poured the rest of your drink into your mouth and swished it around to wash away the blood before swallowing.

Jaskier knew. All these months you thought you were the only one hurting, the only one who felt the weight of the witcher’s memory, but you were wrong. Gods were you ever wrong.

You felt terrible, and far too sober. You quickly swiped at your tear-soaked face, picked up your empty stein and turned to make your way to the bar.

But then you saw him.

He was alone, as always, wearing the thick wool cape you loved. The hood wasn’t up so you could see that his snow-white hair was a mess of knots. His eyes were fixed on his drink, so you were saved from meeting his gaze. Gods, you’ve missed him, and fuck he looked good. And tired. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

Then he looked up at you and your breath caught in your throat. His rich, golden eyes were looking straight at you… and they were vacant. He was looking through you, not at you; he didn’t remember you or care to, and your already broken heart shattered once more.

I am nothing to him, you thought somberly, exchanging your empty mug for a full one. You took a deep, shaky breath and downed your beer in one go, slamming the stein back down decisively. But I’m everything to him, maybe that will be enough.

Before heading up the stairs to where you knew the bard was waiting, you allowed yourself one last look at Geralt, only to find he wasn’t at his table anymore. Seems the fates had decided for you, your thought, letting a hollow laugh escape your lips.

The staircase wasn’t especially long, but the trip up felt unending. You took every step slowly, allowing yourself these brief moments of grief over the official loss of your witcher before you committed yourself fully to Jaskier. No more daydreams, no more longing, no more imagining his large, strong arms around you while the bard’s sinewy frame enveloped you.

You had just about convinced yourself that you’d made the right decision when you spotted him, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“G-Geralt,” you breathed, feeling yourself smile despite yourself.

“Y/N.”

“What, um, how – uh, hi,” you stuttered, needing to look up at the ceiling to keep yourself from completely melting under the burn of his gaze.

“Hm,” he hummed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “still the wordsmith I see.”

“Hilarious,” you retorted, falling effortlessly back into your habits. “I’m happy to see you’ve still got my blade,” you said, nodding to the sword behind his back.

“Of course,” he breathed, now dangerously close to you. “I take you with me everywhere.”

“You mean my blade?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“No.” he said, his eyes boring into you, sparking the flame you’d spent so long trying to tamp out. “Are you here with him?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“You know I am.” You replied defensively, irrationally angry to hear him bring up the bard.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” you spat, but seeing the way Geralt’s eyes softened knowingly at you, you couldn’t help but to backpedal your aggression. “He’s Jaskier, you know? All silver linings and sunshine.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward as he remembered his friend’s almost insufferable positively. “And you? Are you happy?”

“Geralt…” you practically groaned, crossing your arms to keep the heat radiating off of him from taking over you.

“Are you?” he insisted, reaching over to let his warm, calloused fingers ghost over your forearm. The feeling lit your body on fire and left an obvious layer of goosebumps in their wake.

He was standing so close to you know, you could smell the leather, cedar, and smoke emanating off of him, just like it always had. You could feel his breath on your face. Despite yourself, you looked up at him through your lashes. His proximity was intoxicating, inexplicably comforting.

“This is cruel… you’re being cruel…” you whispered, wiping stubborn tears away but not taking a step in any direction, unable to risk his leaving if you were to move.

“Y/N…”

“He loves me, Geralt, so much.” You insisted, almost like a mantra.

“But are you happy?” Now he was whispering. He sounded sad, his deep gravelly voice melting over you like sunlight after a frozen night.

“Geralt –” you warned, shaking your head.

“Answer me.”

“No. I-I’m not.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I’m not happy.” You conceded, the truth of the statement washing over you as you heard yourself say it.

“Me either.”

You looked up at Geralt then, letting yourself take in the sight of him in full; his eyes, big and sad and fierce as ever, his brows furrowed, creating that deep crease you so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe, his mouth, his lips. You were barely inches from each other now, all you had to do was tip your chin, stand a little straighter…

He closed the gap between you then, his lips crashing into yours hungrily. You fully surrendered yourself to him, reveling in the feeling of his body against yours and you let yourself be happy, insanely, deliriously happy, for the first time in months.

***

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, his head in both hands, and sobbed. His broken breath echoed around the empty room, sporadically drowning out the sound of his best friend kissing the love of his life on the other side of the door.

She was never mine, he thought as sobs broke through him.