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Jaskier could not believe the nerve of that guy. Honestly, he went out of his way for Geralt. Did everything he could for him: like risk his life on the daily to spread the word of the great Witcher. He didn’t see anyone else sticking the neck out for Geralt. No, just about everyone else wanted to see that man as no more than a monster. Everyone except for him. And what did he get for it? Yelled at … again. Just like every other day.
The bard kicked a small rock and listened as it tumbled down the cliff. For a brief moment, he peered over the edge as it dropped, sucking in a hissed breath. Maybe he should … veer a little farther from the edge. Jaskier shuffled, feet scraping over loose gravel. One step back and something struck his forehead before rolling down. Before he could gaze up to find the source, a large clap of thunder startled him.
Then the downpour started, instantly soaking him. It was coming down so hard he could barely see more than a foot in front of him.
Great, just what he needed to make his day even better. The checklist was complete: Almost get eaten alive, get yelled at and now get rained on. He took a deep breath and slowly released it. Well, it was only up from there, he supposed. Trying to keep his mood light, Jaskier continued down the path, keeping his head held high. No way he was going to let all this get to him. Nope, he was going to brush it off and carry o-
“ Fuck,” he gasped, foot slipping from under him. With how hard the rain was coming down, it really did not take long for it to start streaming down the decline. The gravel was already washing away, taking his footing with it.
In a split second of panic, Jaskier grabbed on to whatever he could, hand catching hold of an overhanging branch. The moment he did, it was like the whole ground fell from under him. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut against the cascade as pebbles, gravel and even sticks scuffed against his face.
“Oh shit shit shit,” he mouthed as his life line cracked, dropping him by a few more inches. He muttered soft prayers under his breath. He wasn’t even religious, so he wasn’t sure who would have been listening. Really, he would have accepted anyone, be them holy or evil, it mattered not. Just anyone.
A sound he didn’t think himself capable of squeaked out of his throat as the branch shifted again. He could feel it straining under his weight; it was only a matter of time. Jaskier found himself counting the seconds until his inevitable doom. There was no way out. There was nothing else he could grab on to and he’d already seen what was below him. It was death. Death awaited him down there.
His lute slowly slid down his shoulder. And for a single, absent-minded moment, he nearly reached out with one hand to grab it before it plummeted and splintered against a protruding rock. That was about to be him. In just a few short minutes, that was about to be his body splintering down there. The mere thought had nausea pooling in his mouth.
Each crack that vibrated down his arms bad his heart beat a tick quicker. If he was lucky, maybe he would have a heart attack before falling to his demise. But, luck was never much on his side. With a final, fleeting prayer, the branch finally gave way under the strain.
With his eyes shut, Jaskier was quick to lose his orientation. He felt himself strike the ground a few times, each hit twisting him around even more. The only thing he could discern in the mix of fear and confusion was the fact that he was still alive. Though, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. It was a lifetime before he finally stopped. Rain continued to ring in his ears as his pulse thrummed in the background.
Even though his body had stopped, everything still spun around him. There was no pain, no sensation. Maybe he really was dead. Or he fell so fast everything had yet to catch up with him. The longer he laid there, the more likely that idea came to be. A shallow ache crept into his limbs, spreading like a chill closer and closer to his torso until his entire body throbbed with discomfort.
A low, grating groan eased out and he debated opening his eyes. He did so slowly, blinking against the heavy droplets. The world still swirled around him, reigniting the unease in the pit of his stomach. It took some effort, but he managed to swallow it down and keep it down.
He had to calm down. He was fine. He survived and he would be fine. All he had to do was calm the fuck down and take a deep breath. And so, he did just that. After a slow, deep inhale, he let it back out, ignoring the slight shakiness.
“O-Ok,” he muttered, bracing himself mentally.
Sliding his elbows underneath himself, Jaskier inched himself up. So far so good. Other than general soreness, it wasn’t so bad. Keeping his breaths even, he continued to sit up, eyes half-lidded against the steady downpour. He paused part way up, waiting to make sure everything was still working properly.
He was almost there. It was a miracle, he thought. To come out of something like that not only alive, but relatively fine as well. Perhaps there was someone smiling down on him after all. Who woulda thought.
Sighing, he pushed himself the rest of the way and went to pull his legs in, getting ready to stand up. He didn’t get far before white sparked through his vision. He let out a sharp whine and dropped his head back as the debilitating pain up his leg slowly dulled enough for him to compose himself.
That could not have been good. He’d barely moved his leg. His jaw tensed and he closed his eyes. The bard really did not want to look, but he knew he had to. He had to see how bad it was.
His breaths stuttered in and out while his gaze carefully sought out his leg. The moment he laid eyes on the limb, they were locked on. He couldn’t blink; he couldn’t form a coherent thought. At that point, he feared he really was going to throw up at the sight. There was no need for a closer inspection to know it was severely broken.
He had to take a few seconds to be sure he was seeing correctly and it wasn’t just a trick of his brain. That was a bit of a stretch when he was staring at his twisted leg. A leg, that if truly was as mangled as it appeared, could not stay like that. That much, he knew, unfortunately. And even worse, knew what that meant. He would have to straighten it and splint it himself. He was in the middle of the forest with no one around for miles.
There was no help.
That realization pumped more adrenaline through his veins. He was going to have to touch it and shift it. A shudder ran through him. Or maybe he was just getting cold from the rain. At least, he hoped it was from one or the other and not from shock starting to set in.
The bard drew in a deep breath and held it. He had to do this quickly before he changed his mind and decided it was a terrible idea. So many rocks, sticks and branches had tumbled down with him, so at least there were options as far as splints went. He just needed something to secure them in place. He scanned around when his eyes fell on the perfect thing and his heart dropped as he grabbed the strap from his lute. The rest of his instrument was lost among the debris.
Feeling around, moving as little as possible, he pulled two of the straightest ones he could find. He was really about to do this, he couldn’t believe he was really about to do it. And as pissed as he was with Geralt, deep down, a part of him desperately wished the Witcher was there. He would take any amount of yelling and ridicule if it meant he would be saved.
But, that wasn’t happening.
Gritting his teeth, Jaskier knew he had to get out of the rain. He struggled to keep his hold on the sticks and strap. If he was going to splint his leg, he wanted to get it right the first time and touch the limb as little as possible. Of course, that involved dragging his leg across uneven ground.
“Y-You c’n do this, Jask’r,” he mumbled to himself, trying desperately not to throw up. Using his elbows, he shoved himself back, unable to hold back the cry the moment his leg shifted. He lied, he couldn’t do it. There was no way. He couldn’t move without the promise of passing out. He feared if he fainted, he just might drown with the way water was pooling up everywhere.
He would have to do it right there and then. Jaskier sat up as straight as he could, muscles tense to calm his trembling. It didn’t help much, but it did boost his confidence to not instantly regret his decision.
Step 1: straighten his leg. A big step, he knew, and probably the worst of all the steps.
On the bright side, once that was done, everything that came after was sure to be a breeze. Hands tight around his supplies, he used his fists on the ground to pull himself forward, far enough to set them close to his injured leg. Shaking hands moved to hover over it. The bard very carefully placed his hands just below where he assumed the break to be. Just that small touch sent a flare all the way up to his hip.
He let out a pitched hum, trying to keep himself together. He didn’t even move it yet and it was already unbearable.
“Ok, ok ok … A’right,” he mumbled, drawing in a deep, final breath before quickly pulling the limb and getting it as straight as he could.
He knew he was screaming before his ears could register the sound. And when he did finally hear it, it was no more than an echo in his head. Jaskier was on his back once more, rain pelting his face. He could feel almost nothing aside from a deep chill that settled deep in his bones. And yet, he wasn’t shivering.
Jaskier’s breaths were hollow and his heartbeat like thunder in his ears. No … that was actual thunder. He would have been perfectly content staying just as he was. At least the pain was at a tolerable level. As long as he remained absolutely still, everything was fine. That’s what he wanted, but he knew he had to finish the job lest his leg be rendered useless for the rest of his life.
Head heavy, Jaskier struggled to get himself sitting back up. He glanced down, a little relieved to find his leg at a much more natural angle. It wasn’t perfect, but there was no way in hell he was taking another crack at that. If it healed crooked, then so be it.
He inched his way forward, reaching for his lute strap that was caked in mud and half buried in the softening ground. His other hand grasped the other end and with surprising precision, he tossed the loop below his foot and started shimmying it under his leg. It was a long and very agonizing process, but eventually he got it under the broken part of his leg without passing out again.
There was a long pause while he waited for the final step: the splinting part. He held his breath and placed the first stick on the left side of his leg and the other stick followed closely after on the other side. Careful not to bump his leg, Jaskier tied one end of the strap around one stick and paused to prepare himself. The longer he thought about it, the more he wondered if this wasn’t going to be the actual worst part.
Swallowing down his nerves, the bard began wrapping the strap around his leg and two sticks, stopping each time he eased it under his leg. Once the last loop was made, it was time to pull it tight. It had been relatively easy up until that point. Well, as easy as it could have been.
Closing his eyes in anticipation, He placed one hand over the stick with the tied end of the strap and tugged as hard as he could with the other. His breaths quickened and he blinked quickly against the threat of fainting again. Not yet, he had to tie the other end first. He had to get it secured.
His hands were shaking furiously and his vision was wavering to the point that he could barely make out colors. It was equivalent to taking a shot in the dark. Jaskier fumbled with the end of it, swearing every time it slipped from his grasp. He blinked in an attempt to get some of the fog out of his eyes, but all it did was disorient him further.
It took about a minute - maybe more - to finally get the strap looped around the second stick. He clumsily tied it off. It wasn’t the best work, and likely wouldn’t hold up all that well, but there was nothing else to do about it.
With the job said and done, he let himself fall back once more, breaths heaving. The rain continued to drench him with no signs of letting up anytime soon. For a split second, he considered calling out for help with the slight chance someone would hear him. However slim that chance may be. There was no one for miles. He was all alone. Completely and utterly alone.
He just laid there, imagining all the ways he was likely going to die. He wasn’t cut out for this. He wasn’t made for survival in the middle of a forest. Jaskier didn't know the first thing about survival. He was made for crowds of people, for bustling streets. That, he knew how to live in, not this.
His eyes slipped shut before he knew it as he just focused on the rain falling all around him. The longer he lay there, the more he thought he could hear something else through the downpour. It was getting louder - closer.
Footsteps.
Jaskier’s mouth was suddenly dry and his body deathly cold.
“G-Geralt?” he whispered, already knowing the answer. The steps got closer. The pattern in which they walked, it was on more than two feet, that much was for sure. He kept his eyes shut tightly as it drew closer and closer until he could feel hot breath on him. It reeked of rot with an undertone of an odd sweetness. But he still dared not look.
When morbid curiosity hit its peak, Jaskier slowly opened a single eye and was met with a pointed beak, just inches away from his face. Warmth oozed onto his cheek, far too warm to be rain. It was saliva and it burned slightly as it rolled down his face.
The creature snarled at him, beak opening wider. It only took the bard a second more to understand what was coming next. He had to act quickly or he knew it would be the end for him. A thought he’d been having far too much recently. As it reeled back, Jaskier threw all of his weight into tossing himself to the side. The pain in his leg was minimal compared to the fear pumping through his veins. And even less compared to the searing agony erupting in his left shoulder.
He didn’t need to look to know the teeth nicked him, raking across his shoulder. He was sure he could even hear the tearing of his flesh.
Despite the pain, he couldn't cry for help. The only thing he could get out was a stifled whimper as he flopped back to the ground, whole body nearly tingling as sensation drained from him. Panic replaced feeling and his breaths quickened, drying his mouth out more.
His mind buzzed as a throbbing started up behind his eyes. A nausea far different from earlier gripped him, making him twist in on himself as much as he could. He coughed against the burning rising in his throat, gagging on the bitter taste of bile. As he coughed and spluttered, more warm liquid rained down on him, eliciting a harsh flinch.
He couldn’t look. If he was about to be eaten, then he didn’t want to see it coming.
Then, something touched his arm and he sucked in a sharp breath, unable to muster the strength to slap the touch away. The grip was strong, firm and … familiar.
Something else pressed against his head and he was rolled over until he was lying on his back again. Jaskier squinted, able to see a lot more clearly as something leaned over him, blocking the rain. He was absolutely freezing and a strong shiver wracked through him.
“Jaskier,” came a gruff voice.
Whatever energy he had left instantly drained.
“G-Ger’lt.” he wheezed, choking down the still present nausea. It was unsuccessful as he gagged again, turning his head just in time before he retched. He was turned over and placed gently back down. The hand on his head slowly slid down to his forehead and a low hum soon followed.
Geralt humming, that was never good.
As soon as the vomiting stopped, one of Geralt’s arms slipped behind his shoulders and the other, with shocking care, linked behind his knees.
He came, Geralt actually came back for him. Jaskier let his head drop against the man’s chest, exhaustion catching up with him. He closed his eyes and let out one more breath before he slipped into unconsciousness.
Damn he was hot. Compared to the nearly debilitating cold he last recalled, this heat was rather intense, burning him from the inside out. The last thing Jaskier remembered wa-
“Ger’lt,” he rasped, eyes snapping open. He would have shot upright as well if his body were able.
“Stay still,” the Wither demanded, placing a strong hand on Jaskier’s chest. It was enough pressure to make his shoulder throb. “I’ve given you an antidote for Cockatrice venom and you need to lie still.”
The bard swallowed and nodded. So that’s what that thing was. It really was a miracle he survived. “Y’came back,” he breathed out, seemingly forgetting everything else.
“I could smell it,” Geralt replied. Plain and simple. “I followed it.”
“Oh.”
Jaskier’s eyes moved around, seeing the same trees surrounding them. They were still in the forest. He supposed with his leg and venom, Geralt couldn’t have brought him too far. Speaking of his leg; he gazed down. Sure enough, his poorly constructed splint was discarded and a much more secure one was fashioned. And his leg appeared to be much straighter. That was a relief. He might have been a lot happier about it if he hadn’t felt like complete shit.
His whole body was unbelievably heavy and he was still drained of energy. And there was still the heat eating him alive from the inside out. It hurt to even breathe.
“May as well sleep some more,” Geralt muttered as picked his knife up and continued to skin what looked to be a wild rabbit. Jaskier’s stomach turned at the sight and he quickly looked away. “We’ll be stuck here for a while until you’re well enough for travel. Cockatrice venom is not to be taken lightly.”
“Yeah,” Jaskier mouthed, settling back down. He couldn't’ deny things were a little awkward between them after their last argument. To be fair, he couldn't really remember what it was about. And though Geralt was never one to apologize, he knew this was his way of doing so. Followed the scent, he said. But Jaskier knew that was nothing more than a cover story. With how hard it was raining, he doubted the man could have smelled much of anything.
Jaskier wasn’t going to point that out, though. For now, he was going to let Geralt have that and just appreciate the fact that he actually came back. That he cared. No matter their differences, deep down, there was a bond there that he would never admit and Jaskier was fine with that.