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It was an easy job, standard infestation of drowners in the local river making the water unsafe to drink. It had been caught fairly early too so there weren’t even that many of them. He had killed maybe half a dozen and there were less than that still crawling. Geralt was slick with grime and sweat and far over the situation.
The money they were getting from this contract would let them stay at an inn the next night and that made it all worth it. Jaskier waited for him back by the warm fire, for a while he had been able to hear the faint lute playing as he walked toward the river. By now it had stopped and he assumed that the poet had gotten bored for the night.
His sword squelched into another bloated body, tearing through rotted flesh like it would dry leaves. The gore had long since stopped bothering him but he still made an effort to stay clean of things like this for fear of dealing with Jaskier’s complaints if nothing else. Although he did always smile when the bard fussed over him with damp cloths and unscented soaps.
“Geralt!” Speaking of…
Geralt turned slashed through another drowner coming at him with a less than hurried speed. He cut down another one getting a little too close and then turned around to catch a glimpse of his bard.
He was standing at the edge of the wood, leaning against a tree. Just looking at him, watching the fight. Although it wasn’t much of a fight. Geralt rolled his eyes as he turned back. Although, wasn’t he wearing the blue doublet earlier? He must have changed.
Geralt cut down the last three with ease, each shuddering squish was satisfying in its own right. But the whooping cat calls from his bard were also helping. He allowed himself a small smile before turning back to the bard, ready to return to the camp for the night and eat something. No doubt Jaskier had cooked while he was away, although he couldn’t smell anything on him.
No only the stinking stench of drowner clogging his nose, even the heavily perfumed bard’s didn’t make it though.
“Ugh, you always make such a mess, here- drink this and we’ll look you over for scrapes.” He handed geralt his water skin and began to head back into the woods toward the camp, glancing back to see that Geralt was following.
The water was nice sliding down his throat. Refreshing after such an unclean fight. It's not that it was particularly taxing but after seeing all that mucky water, something like this was nice. Jaskier didn’t complain, he barely spoke as they walked back and Geralt once again found himself looking for the bard’s perfume and failing to find it over the drowner flesh that permeated his armor.
The camp came into sight and his blood froze in an instant. The warm fire, Roach, their bedrolls, and Jaskier. His light blue doublet still hugging his frame.
He felt his foot misstep as a strange numbness spread through his ankle, then his calf as he felt himself take a knee to regain his balance. The Man, the thing in front of him had stopped as well, staring at the camp as he stood in front of Geralt. He felt his curled fists loose as he slowly lost control of his body. Ever one of his muscles freezing in a moment as he was slowly paralyzed by the poison that thing fed him.
He stayed still, his teeth grinding in an effort to call out to his friend to run. He needed desperately to say something, do something. He made to reach for his sword, the burning silver would cut through this thing's skin with ease. His fingers only twitched at his side.
Jaskier turned around, a grin spread across his face as he looked down at Geralt. The Light of the fire backlighting him slightly. To Geralt this scene was lit thoroughly by the light but he doubted Jaskier could see them clearly at all. He could see him, idly picking at the dinner he had made for the two of them just past the imposter.
“I want you to watch.” He leaned down next to Geralt’s ear, abusing the face that he was helpless to stop him. The whispered words sent a shiver across his skin. Using the face of his friend to hurt him. Geralt tried to shout or threaten but a low, strained growl was the only thing he could push out of his restrained throat.
“It will be better if you try to enjoy it.” When the thing pulled away Geralt saw his own face staring back at him. Shimmering silver hair and the black stained leather armor. His bulk also matched Geralt’s, growing from Jaskier’s slightly lighter frame.
Geralt only growled again, this time louder as he watched himself step away and start toward the camp. Sharp panic ran through him instantly. Fuck.
Jaskier was in danger, this thing was going to use him to hurt Jaskier. He had to get to it, kill it. Save his bard. His eyes didn’t widen and his fists didn’t clench. He didn’t stand and he didn’t reach for his sword.
He was stuck. He tried to force more out of his lungs, try to call out and get the bard’s attention but nothing more than the strained gasping and growling managed and he doubted Jaskier would even hear him properly if he was beside him.
He watched as the mimic circled the camp on the outskirts, shrouded by the dark until he reached the other side before stepping into the light.
Jaskier’s face lit up as his eyes landed on the thing, looking further away from Geralt. This thing was smart, drawing attention away from where Geralt kneeled.
“Ah! Geralt. Just in time. I have just finished with our meal. And surely for my efforts you will recount to me the wonderful tales of your battles with those slimy beasts.” Jaskier’s silence was broken the moment there was someone to talk to and Geralt could only watch as such attention was given to the threat. He willed Jaskier to see through it, to use his blade or run.
“If you wish.” The mimic said, still standing over Jaskier and the fire.
Geralt watched as Jaskier faltered at the response, clearly this was not what he expected to hear. Hope lurched in Geralt’s heart. Jaskier was a bard, his job was to see through people and he had always been good at it.
Jaskier would see through this poor attempt and escape. He had to.
“I- good I for the life of me did not want to pry those tales from you tonight. Now are you hungry, hurt, thirsty. You look… remarkably clean for a romp with drowners.” Yes! Geralt watched the thing’s face twist in frustration. Clearly this was not going as easily as he thought it would.
“I lured them onto dryer land. There weren’t that many.” A good lie if you knew little about drowners. Jaskier knew just as much as Geralt when it came to as common a creature as drowners. He had seen how little sense that made immediately, Geralt recognized the look of confusion and then slight anger as he became frustrated by the lack of things adding up.
“Well if you didn’t want to tell me then there is no need to raise false hope Geralt. Or lie for that matter.” Jaskier hissed out, clearly not taking well to the disrespect he thought Geralt was giving him.
The mimic seemed to seath at that, to be called a lier. He took a hurried step toward the bard. A threat, clear as day. Jaskier startled at the sudden movement, scrambling to his feet with a look of deeper hurt and confusion.
“What the fuck is your problem tonight Geralt... did something happen?” Jaskier’s sudden worry made Geralt’s heart clench. This was not the time Jaskier! Figure it out! He pleaded with himself to break the hold this drug had over him.
The thing didn’t say anything as Jaskier steadied his stance, holding his casual pose as he often did in Geralt’s presence. He was always so comfortable around the witcher, never realizing exactly how much of a threat he was and now it was going to get him killed.
It then lurched forward, the mimic’s hand grasping onto Jaskier’s wrist in a controlling hold. Jaskier looked uncomfortable but still looking for signs of things to be worried about. His care for the witcher was going to kill him and Geralt could do nothing about it but watch helplessly.
The thing yanked forward, pulling Jaskier off his balance and closer to it. He grunted in discomfort as he planted his feet, refusing to get closer to the mimic.
“Geralt-?” His pained voice calling out for his friend. Geralt felt his fingers twitch and he focused on that. Trying to move more of his body as everything in his soul told him to get to Jaskier as fast as possible.
“No... you're not- where- Where is Geralt?” Geralt’s eyes focused back in, he had figured it out. He had done it, now he just needed to run.
The grip on Jaskier’s wrist tightened and he winced in pain. He tried to pull away but the thing pulled him back easily, a greasy smile spreading over Geralt’s face.
“Right here.” The thing gave up on mimicking his cadence of speech. What came out was a strange mix of Geralt’s voice and a stranger’s. Jaskier looked panicked as he glanced around the clearing, looking for his friend.
“Geralt!-” He tried calling out and was met with silence.
“See, right here. There’s no one else in these woods.” The mimic pulled Jaskier to him, letting the bard stumble into his chest.
“W-when he gets back he’ll gut you. You know. Even if you leave, h-he'll find you.” Geralt wanted to shout that he was right, throw threats in the bastard's face and then deliver.
“No one’s coming…” The mimic’s voice came slow and easy, using Geralt’s voice to further sow discomfort. Jaskier began to squirm in earnest now, realizing there was no talking him down.
He tried to wrench his wrist back but as soon as he moved the mimic snapped him out and then pulled him back in, wrapping his arms around the bard from behind. Jaskier cried out again as pain shot through his slightly over extended arm. He kept moving, flighting and kicking at the beast to get away but the mimic used Geralt’s bulk to his advantage.
Geralt could only watch in horror as the mimic wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s throat and pulled it back against his shoulder. He could see the sped up breathing and hear the thumbing rabbit’s heart in Jaskier’s chest.
“Fuck! No no- Geral-” His fight didn’t let up even as the bastard wrestled him into a restraining hold, his hand still dangerously close to the bard's windpipe, the other holding his arms behind his back. Geralt heard the thud as the mimic brought Jaskier to his knees, still standing behind him.
The hand around his throat moved to his jaw and mouth, holding it up in a painful restraint that didn’t allow him to speak properly. Geralt’s fury raged on as one twitching finger turned into multiple. He watched as Jaskier’s eyes wet with tears through his struggle.
In response to his continued fight the mimic pulled his arms up his back causing the bard to cry out with the pain shooting through his shoulders. Then tapering off into a softer whimper as his head was dropped forward, gasping panting breaths as he swallowed dryly,
Then one deep breath and he screamed again.
“GERALT!” He still held faith that Geralt was going to save him. He should be putting that effort into escaping. Again his arms were forced up his back and he grunted, tring to lean forward to get away from the pain. His head hit the dirt as the mimic kneeled behind him as well.
Geralt hadn’t been paying attention to the thing, his only priority was making stock of Jaskier’s injuries. Counting the days for recovery and what would be needed for it. All while plotting exactly how to make this thing suffer for the pain he had caused.
A swift thump to the back of the head silenced Jaskier again. As the mimic produced a rope. Geralt wished he had been watching the mimic.
He tied it tightly around Jaskier’s forearms and then looped it around his biceps to ensure his arms stayed in place. Geralt could see the red lines starting to form where the rope bit into the bard’s soft skin. Once sure he wouldn’t move, the mimic slid a fist into Jaksier’s hair and yanked to pull him back up and onto his heels.
Jaskier looked tired and disoriented. In pain and desperately sad for the fact the thing doing this to him still wore his friend's face.
The mimic’s hands moved away from his arms, moving back to his jaw to pry them open as Jaskier was forced to lean back against him. The bard still struggled in the grip, still fighting despite knowing the only reward he would get was pain.
There was a small vile produced, possibly more of the stuff that had been used to paralyze Geralt. He managed to pry open Jaskier’s jaw, as the bars shook his head and tried to snap it shut.
“Stop that.” The mimic hissed, that anger coming out as he pulled Jaskier’s head back, forcing him to still. Using his fingers to jam the back of his jaw to keep his teeth open as he poured the vile into his mouth.
Jaskier immediately went to spit it out but the mimic was quicker, snapping his jaw shut and keeping his head tilted back. His other hand went to close Jaskier’s nose as he went to breathe around it. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he realised his air supply was cut off, the only option to swallow or choke.
Geralt watched as Jaskier continued to struggle, managing to push some of the liquid out through his teeth before needing to intake more air and choking. His chest convulsed with the lack of oxygen and his face twisted in pain. All the while the mimic looked down at him with that creeping smile, jerking his head back to trying and force him to swallow.
Finally Jaskier swallowed the liquid, immediately panting in as much air as he could. His chest heaved with the effort as he was again dropped onto the ground. He faced away from Geralt now and the witcher was slightly glad for it as he could see the shaking sobs that forced their way through the bard’s body. He didn’t want to see his friend’s face twisted in pain.
Geralt felt something in his forearm twitch as he continued pushing, trying to force the feeling in his limbs to return. Every moment he wasn’t there something worse happened to Jaskier and that was on him. He should have seen the signs, should have poked at the inaccuracies like Jaskier had. But his relief at seeing the bard had outweighed his suspicion.
Jaskier coughed and curled in on himself to better protect himself, some of the liquid must have gotten into his lungs.
The mimic leaned over him, one leg placed between the bard’s and then over his ankle to keep Jaskier from kicking. Then the same with the other, keeping the bard completely imobile save for the shaking and wracking coughs.
The mimic’s hands landed on either side of Jaskier’s head, lowering the mimic down to whisper something in his ear. Geralt heard Jaskier gasp and suddenly shift to turn and face him. His eyes widened as they landed on Geralt just beyond the trees. He looked like he wanted to call out for help, or as a warning, Geralt didn’t know. But the hoarseness of his throat betrayed him and he didn’t utter a single sound.
The mimic leaned back admiring his work, Jaskier remained still. Not fighting anymore, just looking at Geralt with something of desperation and pain. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully again. He had been so ready to find Jaskier after the hunt and enjoy a hot meal with his friend around the fire.
His forearm spasmed again and then so did the other. It was wearing off but not quickly enough. He needed more adrenaline in his system. The mimic was taking his time so maybe he wasn’t even aware that Geralt was beating out whatever he put in the water skin.
The mimic’s hands came to rest on Jaskier’s back, gently, almost lovingly. A new look of fear passed over Jaskier as he understood what was happening. Geralt could only look confused at the scene.
Then the thing slid his hand under the doublet, untucking Jaskier’s undershirt and placing his hand on the skin at the small of his back. Then Geralt got it. He understood what was happening. What was about to happen.
Anger and righteousness surged through his blood as his eyes darkened. He pulled hard at the restraints in his muscles, feeling the pain as he pushed through the effects. Adrenaline rushing to meet his needs as he forced himself to heal, to get up.
The mimic’s hands moved lower, caressing over Jaskier’s ass then then thighs. Jaskier struggled with a new vigor but his movements were stunted, jerky as they didn’t quite respond to his commands.
It was likely the same thing he had done to Geralt, keeping the bard compliant. Geralt felt nauseous at the thought.
When his arm finally moved he could have cried out with the anger. His whole forearm twitched and then moved, his shoulder responding as if strained. Then his other arm. He tried to reach for the blade in his boot. Pain would be the fastest way of getting more adrenaline in his system.
The mimic was leaning back over Jaskier now, his hand still up the bard’s shirt. Jaskier had stopped moving. The potion clearly taking complete effect as he didn’t even wince when the thing took hold of his hair again, forcing his head to lift and look forward. One arm wrapped around Jaskier’s front to hold him to the mimic’s chest while the other got a hold of his hip and then slipped around to his belt.
Geralt felt the grip of his dagger with his fingertips and latched onto it, feeling his shoulders and legs with more give. It all felt slightly numb still, like running in a dream. But as he watched the mimic’s hand moved lower, pulling open Jaskier’s pants. Jaskier’s face had gone slack now but tears rolled from his eyes unendingly.
Geralt’s fingers pulled, catching on the flared hilt of his dagger and pulling it into his palm. Even fighting his own muscles, the practiced motion came to him. He slipped his finger down the blade and then pressed it into his calf. Cutting a line up it as he brought his arm back to his side. He felt his face twitch in a grimace, a good sign as the pain spread through him.
He could only watch as the mimic’s hands, formerly Geralt’s gloved hands deformed, creating something akin to claws shaping out of the leather and flesh. Only then to drag across Jaskier’s stomach just under the cloth. He didn’t hear Jaskier make a sound but he saw the pin pricks of blood that started to soak through. The mimic’s hand stopped and dug in, his claws disappearing into the soft muscle. More blood began to trickle out and Geralt pressed on his own blade harder, finding that his own muscles were finally listening to him.
He felt himself start to sway forward, the paralysis no longer keeping him still. He tensed, locking himself in place as he continued to fight. He needed to keep a view of Jaskier at all times. No doubt this mimic wasn’t above just grabbing the bard and running. The mimic’s hand moved away from his gut and up toward his neck, claws scraping over his adam's apple. Drops of blood dripping down under his shirt. The thing didn’t want to kill him, not yet at least. Geralt was at least grateful for that.
He felt his legs twitch, moving slightly under his control. Back and forth. Back and forth. Cutting over the first line in his calf again as he felt his heart rate pick up. The faster he processed the poison the faster he could tear that bastard limb from limb.
His arm lifted, making it to his sword as he pulled his leg in front of him to try and push up onto it. He just had to fight it a little more. Get standing and go from there. There was a chance that the thing would be intimidated and run, or do something stupid.
“I’ve been watching you.” The thing purred, holding tighter to Jaskier’s hair and stomach, effectively rolling himself against the bard’s body.
He had to watch as the thing used his tongue to lick up Jaskier’s neck to his jaw. Another wave of nausea washed over him.
Jaskier didn’t react, tears still streaming down his face. It was worse like this. Geralt fought harder. Shifting his weight until he could stay leaning forward on his foot, grounding himself into the dirt. Then pushing off the ground, his muscles straining, trying to keep him still.
“The pretty little flower who sings. You will sing for me.” He pulled Jaskier’s head again this time positioning him so their noses almost touched. The pretense of using Geralt’s visage has started to slip as the creature's nauseating arousal grew. The brilliant golden eyes of a witcher dripped away from him into something lighter, a light blue, with a pupil so small he might not even be able to see even with the light of the fire. Jaskier didn’t look him in the eyes, his face pointed toward the thing but his eyes dropped away to the side, tears still gathered there.
Geralt planted his foot and lifted, he was standing. Finally he was standing. He dragged the leg that had been kneeling forward to meet the other. The dagger still clutched against his thigh now. He pressed it there too, feeling his grip respond to his command. He was gaining control.
Another step and his hand was on his silver blade. Dragging it from its sheath with a drawn out twang.
The creature had just pressed its mouth to Jaskier’s, kissing at him, when he froze to the sound. The thing turned slowly toward Geralt. He seemed surprised to see him standing but that creeping smile returned as he clutched at Jaskier tighter.
He was hunched over the bard, looking more animal than witcher. Jaskier’s kneeling form was twisted to fit uncomfortably in the grasp. His arms pulled tight behind his back, but his eyes stared into Geralt’s now. Wide with surprise, hope, need, worry. Of course the idiot would be worried for him.
Geralt took another step. His sword held low, but ready. Something animalistically possessive rushing over him. Those disgusting claws marking over the bard’s skin. That grotesque mouth marking his bard in slime and filth.
“Your knight in shining armor songbird. Look at him. I didn’t expect it to wear off this quickly… Oh look at that. He’d made himself bleed.” More of the thing’s visage had started to slough off. His sneer, his laugh did nothing to help him look like Geralt.
Jaskier’s eyes dropped to the dagger in his hand and his mutilated leg as Geralt began to pick up speed, his muscles jumping into a slow, stumbling walk. He could feel his face twist with the fury he felt, glowering at the beast as he pushed himself forward.
“Y-dro-p him.” Geralt struggled to speak, his tongue like lead in his mouth. Again taking the thing by surprise. He didn’t look back at Jaskier, fear of risking his resolve sank heavy in his chest.
“I see…” The thing said, his eyes narrowing at Geralt and turning back to Jaskier.
“Had I known you were already soiled, I wouldn’t have bothered.” He sneered with disgust at Jaskier before dropping him to the ground hard. There was a small huff as the air was pushed out of Jaskier’s lungs from the impact.
“I should have known you were the witcher’s toy.” He spat at Jaskier. And Geralt lunged. His fury sparking through him in a rush of fire that had his adrenaline pour into his bloodstream. He took the thing off guard and he tackled it to the ground, his sword forgotten in the grass as he got his hands on it.
Before the thing could get another word out Geralt was on top of him, pinning it to the ground and slamming his closed fist into its windpipe. The choking sound that resounded satisfied him slightly but it wasn’t enough. He put his hands around its neck, where the skin made contact, the tan skin of the witcher slipped away, replaced by the grayish shade of a shape changer.
Geralt pressed harder, almost not feeling the claws digging into his wrist and chest. He swung his fist again, smashing in the thing’s nose and then again when he wasn’t satisfied with the amount of blood. Then again for the fun of it. He didn’t smile, he didn’t feel joy doing this. The viscera never gave him joy. He did it because he had to, because the monster deserved it. His eyes blazed with the anger he held, wide and wild with it. The rest of the world drowned out as he hit the thing again. He would die a slow and painful death at Geralt’s hand and Geralt would not count him among the innocent deaths.
He said nothing, silently beating into the caved skull of the thing, his own visage long since dropping away, claws no longer digging into his skin.
He was dead, he had been dead for a while by the time Geralt finally stepped away. Hands dripping in viscera, knuckles bruised and chest heaving. His limbs still felt slow but he didn’t care. The threat was gone. He had made sure of that.
He surveyed the corpse. Spitting at it and then driving his heel into the cut, feeling the satisfying snap of ribs.
Then he turned to Jaskier.
The bard was laid on his back, his arms making his his chest raise off the ground uncomfortably. His head had fallen away and Geralt was glad he hadn’t been forced to witness his loss of control.
Geralt wiped his hands of most of the blood as fast as possible, kneeling at Jaskier’s side with a slight stumble. He leaned over the bard and saw his eyes widen. Fear or confusion. He didn’t know if this was Geralt or not.
“I-i… me. I-’m real.” Geralt forced out, his voice starting to go raw with the minimal effort of speaking. Jaskier seemed to relax at that, believing him for now.
Geralt shifted Jaskier’s body, feeling him tense at the contact, onto his side. The knots weren’t good but they served their purpose and looking at them gave Geralt a sinking feeling they cut into Jaskier’s skin with angry red marks. What kind of coward binds a bard for fear of losing the fight. He glares back at the body, promising to never let it have a peaceful rest.
He carefully unties the knots, loosening the ropes and then slipping them from Jaskier’s arms as gently as he could. Then chucking the rope toward the body.
“S-.. safe.” He tried to comfort it was clear this drug was having more of an effect on the bard. It was to be expected. It could be hours before it wore off and Geralt would be there the entire time.
He moved Jaskier’s arms slowly, pulling him onto his back and placing his arms over his stomach. He saw his eyes flick down, trying to look at where the mimic was. He wanted to see it, to make sure it was dead. Geralt complied, lifting him into a sitting position so he could see the pale body.
“De-.. dead.” Geralt confirmed as Jaskier watched for breath. Jaskier looked back to him with something like worry again. Geralt saw it and it broke him. He placed his hands on either side of the bard’s head and pressed his forehead to it. The one time he needed to speak, to comfort and reassure. The one god damn time he had the time and the need to speak to his bard and he could barely get a syllable out at a time.
He pointed at the body and then held back to Jaskier. The fear had left him, there was just worry, anxiety. He was sure to go into shock soon so Geralt had to move fast.
“Di..- is pose. M-make y-o safe.” He looked at Jaskier with as much sincerity as he could. He shouldn’t try to move Jaskier now, picking him up risked dropping him. Geralt nuzzled against him and then leaned him back down on the forest floor. His arms were sore and he needed to be cleaned and his wounds dressed. He needed to be taken care of but he needed to remove the body first. It wouldn’t help Jaskier calm down and he could need Jaskier as calm as possible if he went into shock.
Geralt stood back up, his face dropping as he approached the mutilated body. He grabbed the rope, and his sword and then the leg of the mimic and dragged it back toward the river.
He didn’t go far, not out of sight of Jaskier. He wouldn’t leave the bard on his own again for the next week if he had anything to say about it. He kept his eyes on the camp even has his sword was driven into the crotch of the mimic and then twisted free. Even as the rope was used to bind the body and then even as he tossed it as far as his straining limbs could.
He sheathed his sword and returned. He found himself at Jaskier’s side immediately. He was shaking now, still unmoving but his eyes were closed tightly. Like trying to keep his tears from falling. Geralt again moved to pull Jaskier to sit again, pulling the bard into his lap and wrapping his arms around him. He began to clean and dress the wounds. Superficial as they may be, infection would do neither of them good and Geralt hated the sight of his blood. Once finished he spoke again.
“J-jask..ier.” He tried to comfort again, reminding the bard that he was safe. Nearly all of his movement returned and even speaking was getting easier. Geralt moved his hands to Jaskier’s arm, stretching out the folded limb to its extent and then helping the bard to roll his shoulder to try and reduce the aching.
Then moving to the other one. He saw Jaskier’s tears dry and his eyes open more relaxed. His entire body was limp in Geralt’s hold so he made sure the bard sat comfortably, extending his legs out and continued to soothe his arms.
Eventually he watched as Jaskier’s fingers began to twitch. The potion wareing off, although they had a long way to go. He wanted to speak again.
“Gone. We’re- safe.” It was easier now and the comfort came naturally to him. He continued to stretch and soothe Jaskier, hoping that keeping him moving would force his body to process the drug faster. Even with his limited range of movement, twitching fingers and muted expressions there was nothing in Jaskier that opposed the fussing.
Soon his breathing evened out as well. Geralt wanted to tell him to rest, to find comfort and sleep but he knew that Jaskier wouldn’t. Neither of them would likely be sleeping that night.
He moved his hands back over the bard, holding him up and close in a manner he would likely need to explain himself for later. But not right now. Right now he would make sure that Jaskier was safe and then later he would apologize for making the bard uncomfortable or pushing boundaries after such a harrowing experience. Jaskier still breathed normally, staring out into the woods just as Geralt did.
Geralt could see Jaskier’s finger’s twitching, moving, curling and uncurling over and over again. He was doing what Geralt had done, trying to force his body to comply. Pride swelled at his resilient bard, not willing to lay down and let it wear off. He held tighter, the image of that thing leaving his mark on Jaskier.
He removed his handkerchief and wet it slightly. Taking care to wipe down over the bard’s neck, apologizing for the cold. And then down his arms, cooling the angry marks of the rope and where that thing had spit on him. He removed any lasting evidence of that monster and helped to clean the sweat and grime from his skin.
He had felt disgusted just seeing it, he can’t imagine Jaskier felt much cleaner himself. Once they reached town Geralt would pay for a nice warm bath and a hot meal and they would stay hidden for the day until Jaskier felt better.
“Yo-y-yo-u.” Jaskier’s voice came strained and horse, forced out through a restricted throat and heavy tongue. It sounded slurred and uneasy. It made Geralt’s heart ache as he compared it to the confident, unshakable voice the bard carried so often.
“Keep speaking, it- it gets easier.” He tried to comfort, getting him to use those muscles would help the position wear off even if it was uncomfortable.
“G… gr ger-alt.” Geralt held tighter, letting him know that he was listening and that he could be patient.
“Th-th-...the. M-mim-ic.” Geralt felt himself tense slightly at the mention. Was Jaskier still worried about it. He could go back, cut the bastard up into tiny pieces so he could never return. Not even necromancy would be able to save it.
“Dead. Jaskier. Dead and gone. He can’t touch you anymore. I won’t let him.” He spoke before he could stop himself.
“H-urt you?” Jaskier’s arms were moving now with a jerky motion, like catching on invisible resistance. Geralt understood the meaning of his words quickly. He was worried the mimic had done something similar to Geralt while Jaskier hadn’t seen. There was something welling in his lungs at that thought.
“No, Jask. I’m fine.” The bard didn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer, his arm moving to Geralt’s bad leg harshly. As if to point out his bleeding cuts. They weren’t worth the dressing, and had already started to heal. But Jaskier was in shock, he was vulnerable to the upset that seeing Geralt hurt was likely bringing.
“I know Jask, let's dress my wounds ok? You can watch to make sure I’m doing it right.” Geralt’s arms reached under Jaskier's own, still holding the man to his chest as he lifted his pant leg to examine the visible cut.
As he had thought it was already healing and was unlikely to even scar. He felt Jaskier thumb at his shin, trying to comfort the witcher as Geralt ran the damp handkerchief over the cut. He cleaned the blood away mostly, making the cut look smaller. It seemed to help as Jaskier’s worried expression seemed to turn to focus as he had something to latch on to.
Taking his job seriously as Geralt properly cleaned and wrapped the handkerchief around the wound, not that it was really bleeding much anymore.
“It’s already started healing Jaskier. Can you see it? The Handkerchief will keep it from getting infected.” Geralt reassured, the gruffness of his voice returning.
“I'm not in pain. Now keep talking, keep moving so your limbs. Just like waking them up Jask.” He tried to be gentle, allowing Jaskier to shift his legs and arms. He was grunting at the discomfort but at least that was better than the crying. Gods Geralt was grateful he had stopped crying. It was not often that the bard did but when he did Geralt’s heart would shatter, he often found himself willing to do anything to correct such a sight. Nothing this beautiful should feel such pain as to make them cry.
“G-gealt.” Geralt again squeezed him in his arms in response.
“Th-a-nk yu-you.” Don’t thank me. He wanted to scream. He had failed. Trusted his eyes over his senses, god damn his wishes. Wistful thoughts of domesticity had led them here. He should have known. He should have known.
He let himself inhale deliberately, the scent of blood and worry, sweat and tears. Then something softer, comfort, sleep, honey and wildflowers and chamomile and cinnamon. He breathed in again. Silently scenting, his own clay, steel, leather, and wood mixed with it.
It brought him comfort even if the bard couldn’t smell it. They smelled like them, the thing with no smell couldn’t even cover that. He felt a small, self righteous pride at that.
“You don’t need to thank me Jask, I fell for it. More than you did. I should have seen through the bastard. Known it wasn’t you. But I didn’t. I’m sorry.” He let his head drop onto Jaskier’s shoulder in defeat.
Jaskier’s hand flopped onto his arm, still shaking slightly, movement still sluggish. But it was still comforting. He could imagine Jaskier’s voice telling him to stop talking in an annoyed tone. Laughing at his sentimentality or shaming him for speaking bad about himself. He felt himself smile at the many memories of similar such situations.
“Sh-shu-t u..p” Geralt laughed at that. His low chuckled vibrating into Jaskier’s shoulder. It only made him want to hold tighter. The stark reminder of all that was on the line every moment he let his guard down.
“You’re right you should be the one talking. How are you feeling.” His own tone surprised him. Sincerity and humor.
“B-ett-er.” Geralt grumbled at him for that, one word answers wouldn’t cut it.
“N-ow -that- m-my w-itch- witcher is here.” Geralt huffed another laugh at his bard. Still trying to comfort him even now. By now the shock must had been dying out but Geralt didn’t dare to let go yet.
“Your witcher?” Geralt smirked, poking him.
“K-keep-p that a-attitude a-and you won’t be.” He could almost hear the playful and knowing smile on Jaskier’s lips.
“Why aren’t you my bard? Why do I have to be your witcher?” Geralt teased.
“Y-ou coul-d be my dog i-if you w-wanted.” Jaskier’s lungs squeezed in a painful sounding excuse of a laugh. Geralt mourned that he couldn't hear the natural easy laugh that always came too often.
Geralt’s giddy smile never left. To anyone else this would be a semi unnerving thing but to Jaskier it was often the best part of his day.
“If I were your dog, then you’d have to be my rat.”
“A r-Rat!?” It was supposed to be a shout but it wasn’t any louder than Jaskier’s ordinary speaking volume. Geralt winced just the same.
“Wh-why a rat?”
“It just makes sense. Always squeaking.” Geralt hadn't pulled his head away from the closeness Jaskier was allowing him. He felt Jaskier shift with the outrage, his whole body moving. The progress delighted Geralt, and soon Jaskier wouldn’t need to feel so vulnerable. He wanted him to feel better.
“Squeaking!” Again his voice was strained and not very loud but the outrage was clear.
“I’ll h-have you kn-ow this rat is v-very beloved in-in cer-tain places.” Geralt again put his nose to Jaskier’s shoulder.
“I can’t see why.” Geralt deadpanned much to Jaskier’s continued offence. They both knew it was all in good fun but this was part of their song and dance. The bickering and the bantering all while huddling in each other's arms. It helped to distract from how horrible their encounter could have gone.
“S-say-s the do-g c-cuddling a-a rat.” In response Geralt held tighter for a moment before relaxing again.
“I’m sorry Jaskier. I will protect you better next time.” He felt the bard sag as much as his body allowed.
“I was ho-oping there wouldn’t b-be a next time my dear.”
“Good idea. There won’t be a next time. The next mimic I see I will run through before he can touch you.” That mock of the beautiful laugh Jaskier had came again but now not as strained.
“A-as much as I love y-your insatiable bloodlust…” Geralt winced at that. He hadn’t meant it to sound so brutal but he knew that if it came down to it he would kill again to protect himself and his bard.
“I think your passions a-are better left f-for the real the-reats of the world.” Jaskier giggles and it finally sounds as easy as it's supposed to.
“There is a rat I’ve been meaning to catch.” Geralt squeezed him again. It felt repetitive but every time he was reminded of what he had, what he could have lost, what he didn’t lose. Jaskier must also find it comforting as every time he would push back on him, allowing Geralt to feel how real his body was. How real he was.
“S-seems he’s- he’s been caught.”
“Do your arms still hurt?” Geralt continued.
“No, thanks to you’re excellent massage skills. H-honestly Geralt I would h-have thought that you were a professional.” Geralt finds himself laughing again.
“That's good. You’ll be sore again tomorrow.”
“Then you can just help me again. Right, my witcher?” His tone held such fondness it was hard for Geralt to say no when he spoke like that. It was always hard for Geralt to say no to him. Not that Geralt would ever tell him.
“Of course, my bard.” He saw Jaskier smile at that. Not quite looking at him but he didn’t need to. Geralt understood without needing the words.
“Thank you Geralt.”