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Jaskier knew he should have listened to Geralt. But tagging along was just too tempting, as it usually was. The Witcher never shared all the juicy details of his battles, so what better way of getting what he needed than getting a front row seat. The bard stood with his back pressed against a tree as it rattled. Just to his left, he could spot the sharpened antlers peeking around as the beast rammed the trunk, barely missing him.
“Geralt!” he called out in desperation, scared to risk a quick look.
He closed his eyes tight and tried to convince himself that wasn’t a whimper that just slipped past his lips. Muttering a soft prayer, Jaskier jolted away from the tree as it was charged at once again. The bard fell to the ground and crawled as quickly as he could to put as much distance between himself and the threat as possible.
There was a cry behind him, but he kept his attention forward, focusing on just getting away. He knew that sound well; Geralt was back on the attack, much to his relief. Jaskier sought refuge behind yet another tree, this one far enough away for his comfort. Or, for a little more comfort. His heart continued to echo through his entire rib cage.
Geralt had this under control and it would be over before he knew it. But, he didn’t follow all this way just to cower behind a tree and imagine the scene unfolding. No, he came for an epic battle, one that would surely be one of his greatest hits.
Very slowly, as slowly as he could, the bard reared his head around the trunk, fingers scraping at the bark.
“Jaskier! Don’t!” Geralt yelled out, bringing his sword down.
The words hadn’t fully processed in the bard’s head before he blinked, meeting the fiend eyes to eye. He didn’t mean to stare at its centered eye for so long, but … he couldn’t look away. It was captivating - absolutely hypnotizing. Jaskier swallowed hard, realizing he couldn’t look away. His gaze was locked by some invisible thread.
“G-Ger’lt,” he muttered, lips not moving.
His eyes barely shifted enough to catch the flash of fear in the Witcher’s face. That was odd, it was a look he’d never seen before. Jaskier didn’t see it for long before a blink later, pain surged through his right shoulder and he was knocked off his feet. For what had to have been a solid few seconds, he was suspended midair.
Then, all of his senses were literally rammed back into him when his back struck something hard enough to knock what was left of his breath out of him. A wheeze choked down his throat as he struggled to draw in his next.
All the while, he still stared into that single eye, unable to glance away. Even with his shoulder on fire and head swimming, his body refused to cooperate with him. He was sure he was going to die. Jaskier saw his own death reflecting back at him.
Eyes wide open, he couldn’t even flinch when warm blood sprayed across his face, droplets landing on his lips. The moment the creature’s eyes were ripped away, Jaskier let out a shrill cry, squeezing his eyes shut.
There was a crack and something pulled at his shoulder, eliciting another scream to scrape up his already raw throat.
“ F’ck!” he nearly sobbed through quick, shallow breaths.
“Don’t move,” Geralt instructed, one hand raised.
Jaskier sucked in a shaky breath as one hand reached for his shoulder. His whole body chilled as his fingers drifted over bone. Fearing the worst, he risked cutting his eyes over. And he wasn’t sure if he should have been relieved or horrified. It wasn’t his bone he was feeling but the broken off antler of the beast still stabbed through his shoulder. It didn’t take much longer for him to put two and two together as his feet still hovered above the ground.
He was pinned; the antler was the only thing keeping him up.
“Geralt,” he mouthed, licking dry lips, barely noticing the bitter taste of blood. “H-Help.” Jaskier swallowed hard as both hands wrapped around the antler. He had no idea how Geralt was supposed to help. Hell, he really didn’t want to think about it.
“Hold your breath,” Geralt instructed. He tapped Jaskier on his cheek to garner his attention. “I have to get you off this tree first, understand?” he asked with a surprising amount of patience. After a second of hesitation, Jaskier gave a single nod with a stifled whimper.
The Witcher hummed and removed his hand. This was not going to be pleasant - for either of them.
“Sorry,” Geralt muttered before wedging his sword between the end of the antler and the notch in the tree. Every vibration sent through the antler had Jaskier’s teeth gritting harder. Specks buzzed through his vision. There was a loud crack, and though he knew it was the antler, he was sick at the sound and the sharp jolt it sent through him.
A second later, Jaskier slumped forward and was easily caught by his charge, careful not to nudge the still protruding antler and make it worse than it was. With Geralt’s assistance, Jaskier sat on the ground, leaning his left shoulder against the tree.
Every moment was a battle against unconsciousness. The antler shifted with every inhale and exhale and he honestly breathed as slowly as he could to keep it somewhat steady. As long as it didn’t move that much, it wasn’t that bad. Of course, he knew the adrenaline rush was mostly to thank for that. The moment it was out, he didn't think he would be able to bear it. Plus that was the only thing keeping the blood on the inside of his body - where he preferred it to be. But, he knew what was to come next and he was already lightheaded at the mere thought of it.
The anticipation was killing him as he watched Geralt lean in close to inspect the wound and hum quietly to himself. Honestly, he wished he would just get it over with and stop delaying. When he reached for it again, the Witcher slapped his hand away with a lot less care than he’d shown just a few minutes earlier.
“Don’t touch it.” The last thing he needed was the bard aggravating the injury further. “We need to be careful about this. I can’t cut through it. I’m going to have to pull it out.”
Jaskier could feel the color drain from his face at the mention of that. For once, he was praying he would pass out to spare himself the agony he knew would come. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he attempted to mentally prepare himself. No amount of time would be enough, though.
“Jus’ do’t,” he mumbled, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth.
“Not quite yet,” Geralt mumbled, digging through one of his pouches.
Jaskier grumbled to himself, annoyed that this was being drawn out even longer. It was torture and he debated if this was worse than the actual removal was going to be. After a few moments, Geralt held out a pinch of herbs.
“Chew on these,” he requested, holding them closer for the bard to bite onto. “It’s a light sedative; it should help with the next part.”
Jaskier at least appreciated the Witcher trying to make this as easy for him as possible. He eagerly took the leaves in his mouth and wasted no time gnawing on them. Right away, a subtle numbness spread over his tongue. In a matter of seconds, a near ethereal sensation pulsed through his body and his muscles started to relax.
“Better?” Geralt asked.
He waited until the bard nodded before proceeding. He already had some gauze at the ready.
“I’m about to remove it,” the Witcher warned, meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “Stay still and breathe through it.” He wanted to make that as clear as possible. He needed the bard to cooperate. The last thing they needed was him making the wound worse with all his wriggling and writhing.
Once all was said and done, Geralt grasped the thick end of the antler and placed his other hand on Jaskier’s other shoulder. Taking a deep breath of his own, he gave one, strong yank. He blocked out the bard’s shrill cry and the shudders that soon wracked through his body.
“Breathe,” Geralt reminded, fingers tightening around the bone. Just one more good pull and it would be out. Fresh blood was already oozing from the front of the puncture wound. He had to do this quickly before blood loss became a huge issue. “Keep breathing,” he said clearly. Something akin to a grunt and a hum answered him and that was good enough.
The Witcher let out a calm exhale and readied himself. Muttering a small apology, he wrenched the antler free, closing his eyes against the pitched wail just inches from his ear. The sound soon tapered off and Jaskier relaxed under his hand before slumping to the side. Having no time for sympathies, Geralt lay the bard down and began packing the two wounds with the gauze, staunching the bleeding.
Red quickly soaked through, staining his hands, but he kept the pressure, pressing as hard as he dared. On the bright side, Jaskier could no longer feel it. Without much supplies, Geralt wrapped the wounds tightly. The bard was lucky, considering. He was just impaled with the thinner end of the antler and it hadn’t gone through very far. It wasn’t life threatening at the very least.
That was a relief. As much of a relief as one could get from this whole situation.
Carefully plucking the bard from the ground, Geralt rose slowly to his feet. With Jaskier cradled gently in his arms, he began the long walk back to Roach. Along the way, Jaskier mumbled a few incoherent things to himself, but never completely awoke.
He imagined half was exhaustion from the whole ordeal and partially the herbs still taking effect. They were the strongest he had, so he was pleased they were doing their job well.
As much as he wanted to get back to civilization to get Jaskier some proper help, he kept their pace slow, not wanting to jar the bard too much as he rested. He sat in front, back against Geralt as the occasional whine slipped out. Each time, Geralt would slow their trot even more until Jaskier quieted again.
It took about half a day before he finally saw the first signs of town and he fought off the urge to charge in at top speed. Jaskier wasn’t dying, there was no real rush. Finding the nearest medical facility, Geralt carefully dismounted and removed Jaskier, earning a miserable whine from the man.
For the first time since losing consciousness, the bard cracked his eyes open and searched out the Witcher. They were completely vacant as pain thickly clouded them. Here soon, though, he would have something to better help with that.
With Jaskier half awake in his arms, Geralt all but kicked the door in, demanding a bed. Seeing the state of his charge, there was no argument and he was led into the back where he could set the bard down. Once settled, the medics worked quickly and gave Jaskier something a lot stronger to keep him under long enough to patch him up.
Geralt sat nearby for nearly twelve hours before the bard finally began to stir.
And the first thing out of the Witcher’s mouth was, “You really are an idiot, you know that?”
“Morn’n t’you too,” Jaskier croaked, cringing when he shifted a little too much for his body’s liking.
“When I tell you not to look, I mean it.” Jaskier could have easily died back there. If the fiend was just a few more inches to the left, it could have well been over for the man. Hell, part of him wanted to kill Jaskier himself just for not listening. He supposed he couldn’t be too mad when Jaskier never listened. So, it wasn’t really a surprise, but it had never gone quite so bad.
The bard shrugged and rolled his head to the side to get a better look at Geralt, who was hunched forward with his hands clasped in his lap.
“T’was worth’t,” he muttered. “I didn’ die, s’nothing lost.” And he had one hell of a story from it. One hand wandered to his shoulder as he explored the thick bandages covering it. “N’t th’way I planned, though,” he added under his breath with a wince.
Geralt hummed to himself and leaned back. “Well, the good news is you’ll be fine. Nothing vital was hit and there was minimal blood loss considering.”
Jaskier let out a small sigh of his own, sinking back. He didn’t think about it until then: just how badly that could have gone. Eyes closed, he dropped his hand from his shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered. Honestly, he didn’t expect Geralt to become so worried about him.
Geralt said nothing in response. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” he said instead. “Get as much rest as you can until then. I’m going with or without you.” With that, he stood and turned towards the door.
Jaskier just laid there with a small smile. Despite the man’s harsh words, he could hear the underlying intention. Geralt wanted him to come along, he could never just come out and say it. He took a deep breath and settled himself in. He would be ready first thing in the morning.