#scared jaskier

He shook the younger man by the shoulders but Jaskier remained locked in sleep, his shoulders and hips twisting violently as he attempted to free himself from the bedroll. All the witcher could make out were Jaskier’s high, half-whines of his name, Geralt, sprinkled between more of those awful keening sounds. Sobs and hiccups followed moments after and the witcher began to panic.

Geralt pulled Jaskier free and hauled the bard into his lap. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“G-Gera?” 

“I’m here,” Geralt repeated, practically crooning the words into the crown of Jaskier’s head. His sweaty brown hair tickled the witcher’s nose but Geralt refused to let go or adjust their positions. Not until Jaskier’s heart rate returned to normal and he was breathing regularly. “Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Hmm. Any monsters?”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you trust me to keep you safe from monsters?” the witcher teased gently, squeezing his arms around Jaskier’s middle. The bard cuddled closer, burying his nose in the side of Geralt’s neck; Geralt repressed a shiver at the sudden surge of heat against him. When Jaskier didn’t reply immediately, the witcher frowned and squeezed again, reassuring the younger man of his presence. “D-Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you!” Jaskier sighed. “It wasn’t me I was worried about.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re the one who’s always putting himself in danger. I worry about you. I-”

“I’m right here,” Geralt repeated, interrupting the flow of words he knew would lead to more unnecessary panic. “And I’m not going anywhere. And until you go to sleep-” he readjusted the bard until they were both laying comfortably in his bedroll, Geralt’s arms keeping him balanced on his chest like a bard-shaped blanket “-until you go to sleep, you’re not going anywhere either.”

There was a beat of silence as Jakier got comfortable.

“Thank you, Geralt.”

Jaskier lay on the bed, his legs and arms tangled tightly in the sheets, restraining his movements to little shuffles and squirms. His night shirt had gotten rucked up around his ribcage and what skin had been exposed was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His chestnut hair was plastered to his forehead and his face had contorted with an expression of abject horror. “No! Not him, it wasn’t him. My Geralt, stop! Stop, please! No!”

The Beast sat at the edge of his consort’s four-poster and braced his hands against Jaskier’s shoulders, shaking him gently in an effort to rouse him. “Jask, my love. Darling, please wake up.”

The young man’s startlingly blue eyes burst open but remained unseeing; the sheets tightened around him as he tried to sit up and pulled him forcibly back down. The more restrained he felt, the more he struggled. Geralt began to try and unwind his legs, listening as his wriggling consort called out in terror, “Don’t! Enough! Don’t hurt…” his limbs moved slower and his eyelids fluttered. “Don’t hurt Geralt.”

The Beast inhaled sharply and finished unwinding the silk sheets from around Jaskier’s limbs and torso. He pulled his consort’s nightshirt back into place and laid him atop the (still dry) duvet, crossing his hands over his stomach like the princesses he’d seen drawn in books of fairytales. He pressed a tender kiss to the younger man’s forehead and ran the backs of his knuckles across Jaskier’s cheek. “My love. My consort. My heart, wake up. Wake up and see that everything will be alright.”

Jaskier muttered nonsense words and his brow remained furrowed. He sighed and whined and tilted his head back, baring his neck. Geralt truly panicked when he heard the boy whisper urgently, “No, not my Beast. Take me instead.”

He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to Jaskier’s slightly parted lips. This time when those blue eyes flew open, they did so with panicked determination, scanning the room until they landed on Geralt’s hunched form. 

“Thank the gods, my love!” 

The younger man launched his torso off the mattress and clung to Geralt with all his weary strength. The Beast gathered his little bird into the comforting cage of his arms and situated the smaller man in his lap. He scooted up the mattress, laying them back against the headboard and pillowing Jaskier’s head against his chest. The peasant’s nimble fingers threaded their way through the ties of Geralt’s night-shirt and held on for dear life. “Don’t leave me tonight, Geralt. I don’t think I could bear losing sight of you.”

“Was it bad?”

“Terrible. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Because they were hurting me?”

“Yes. They were hurting you and they were threatening to take you away.”

Geralt marveled at the shudder that ran through his little bird with that admission. He’d never felt so utterly wanted in all his life. The smaller man’s face burrowed into his Beast’s neck and snuffled there for a moment, gathering up the safety of his tangy leather-and-metal scent. The Beast held his fragile consort tightly and began to purr, settling Jaskier’s bones more firmly against his skin as the rumbling went on.

“Thank you, my love,” the boy murmured into his skin. “I never want to lose you, either.”

“May I lay next to you tonight and keep the nightmares away?”

“That would be lovely.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be carried in Geralt’s arms from his rooms to the Beast’s. He gave no resistance as his darling Witcher tucked him against his warm, scarred side beneath the heavy covers. He tangled his legs with Geralt’s and rested his head atop his Beast’s left pectoral. 

He fell asleep with Geralt’s soft purring and steady heartbeat reverberating in his ears.