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“Hands, Jaskier.”
They’re both watching him, like he’s going to break any second. Vultures, the both of them. Terrible vultures with sharp, magical eyes.
“No. No, it’s fine. Honestly, Geralt.“
“Bard, come on, you’re trembling. Your hands should get looked at, and that shoulder… Don’t be an ass.” Yennefer sounds incredulous and frustrated. But she tugs at his sleeve, probably harder than intended, eyes fluttering down and sucking in her lower lip. She’s frowning, very hard. Jaskier would say she's worried about him, but he doesn't want to feel pain anywhere else.
“Oh, fuck off, you two. Like I said. It’s- It’s fine.”
But his heart is pumping very hard in his chest and he might pass out any second.
Shit. Fuck all of this. A hurting body is not at all preferable and should be made un-hurt. Theoretically, he knows this. Theoretically, he knows a lot of things.
“Jaskier?”
Geralt can actually sound very worried. Huh.
“Jaskier, you..you should sit the fuck down. Come on.”
Yennefer too, apparently.
He presses his eyes shut and swallows, because the wave of dizziness brings nausea with it.
“Y-yes. I should.”
Two sets of hands grab him gently by the arms.