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ahh-fxck · 7 months

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Warrior's Blues Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Think of Something!

Tags/warnings: Geralt is Not Ok, PTSD, flashbacks, disassociation

Beta: @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog the fabulous, the wonderful, who makes sure I make sense when I write. Always grateful for you, friend.

Branches pluck at her curly mane as she crashes through the undergrowth. They snarl her curls in the haste of her passage, scattering droplets across her face. All she has eyes for are the tracks in front of her, hungrily searching for each new detail in the muddy earth. Julian’s tracks are deep, even, obvious, meandering back and forth across Geralt’s as if they'd been hard to see. To her, Geralt's prints are as clear as day- Uncomfortably so. She knew there was something wrong when Jaskier was able to follow them at all, but now that she's seeing it herself she can't help but run. Geralt has to be in serious trouble to be this obvious.

She pans her flashlight further in front of her. There are the drag marks where Geralt began to limp, and further up she can see how the distance between his footprints changed, showing his gait slowing. Further along she can see the way he began to stagger as his adrenaline finally gave over to pain. With every footprint she finds herself going a little faster, as if she can outpace the sick feeling in her stomach, as if she can outrun the accident itself and get there before Geralt got hurt.

She breaks from the tree cover in the gully going a little too fast and pulls herself up short, panting for breath as she looks around. The place to climb out can't be far but she's too disoriented to spot it yet, and that's the moment she realizes that she needs to take a pause. She turns off the flashlight and sticks it in her bag to free her hands. Then she rakes her hair out of her face and picks out the twigs, flicking them aside with deliberate movements. Once her breath has slowed and she can think clearly again, she turns her light back on.

She stalks up the gully, looking for the scuffled, torn bank where Geralt and later Julian had pulled themselves out. Instead, a familiar shape winks in the dark, half-hidden in a tangle of roots. As she approaches the reflective decal of Geralt's new running shoe becomes clear, partially obscured beneath a slick coating of mud and slime. Something stiff and fragile in her crumbles as she stares at it, giving way to a hot sensation that builds until it sears her breath away. In the airless silence that follows a razor-sharp loneliness flays her to the bone. She curls around herself, one hand coming up to squeeze her opposite arm. It's the kind of loneliness that only an ugly, useless little girl with no power would ever feel. She hates it, and she hates Geralt a little for making her feel it.

She stands there for fuck knows how long, so tense that her joints ache in protest. The heat inside her continues to build, scorching her tears away and leaving nothing but unbearable pressure. Her thoughts race, oscillating between cursing Geralt for being such an unremitting fool and cursing herself, for being the idiot that let him get close enough to bother her.

In her periphery she hears the crunch of brush under someone's feet, startling her back to the present. The sound quickly resolves into human movement. It's familiar- at least, familiar enough, after hours of hearing the idiot crashing through the undergrowth and panting in her ear. The idea of Julian seeing her jars her, forcing her to pull herself back together. She brushes her hair out of her face again and swipes her fingers under her eyes to neaten her makeup, her jaw stiffening and her back becoming ramrod-straight as she does so. By the time she is done her face is a hard, unreadable mask.

No longer the ugly little girl, she once again has the regal poise of the most powerful woman in the world. She waits, alert, listening as the sounds come nearer. Julian pauses when he reaches the upper bank, shifting awkwardly. She lets him wait, taking the time to finish composing herself. By the time she turns to him, her eyes are as hard and dry as chips of amethyst. She picks up the filthy shoe and turns to him.

"Well?" she snaps, holding out her other hand. "Pull me up. What are you waiting for?" He grimaces as he assists her out of the gully, the expression becoming almost comical when she slaps the wet shoe into his hand. Still, he bites back the ill-tempered comment right at the tip of his tongue. And when she's up he steps back out of her bubble without a word. Maybe a little too quickly, granted, but she's grateful for the space and the quiet. She's not sure she could stand hearing anyone speak right now.

She turns on her flashlight. "Let's go. Show me where he is."

Julian nods, uncharacteristically quiet, turning back the way he came. Yennefer follows him, her dark eyebrows furrowed. The forest is sparse here, full of hillocks and hollows eroded from the sandy soil. Not far from the gully an oak tree sits in one of them, larger and more gnarled than all the others. Its base is consumed in shadow, swallowing the remains of Geralt's tracks in darkness.

She turns to Julian. "Has he moved since you found him? Have you touched him?" A note of threat enters her voice.

His lip ticks down in another little grimace but he lets this go, too. He shakes his head. "No and no. He's breathing though." He glances at the pool of shadow and she can hear the slight shake in his breath as he inhales, the corners of his eyes tightening. It tells her volumes about the stress he's hiding, despite how calm he outwardly appears.

"Good." Her jaw works for a moment. She's never had to pick Geralt up out of the mud before, not even on the battlefield- he's always been so reassuringly, even stubbornly full of life. Even when they were up to their neck in the shit, he'd always been there for her to lean on, to rage on, to hold. A dark, ugly part of her wants to run, wants to head for the hills and never be seen again. Ciri would never forgive her, though.

"Hey," Julian interrupts her ruminations, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Let me know how I can help."

Yennefer snorts. She's half-furious that her train of thought's been interrupted, and help is the last thing she wants, especially from this twit... but help is also precisely what she needs if she's going to get Geralt safely to the car from here. She may be strong, hell, she might even have a great grasp of leverage, but he's too damn big for her to carry more than a few feet.

She sighs. "Fine. Be quiet, do exactly as you're told, and no kvetching. Got it?" He nods, and she continues, "He's likely to be disoriented, so stay back. Don't startle him. Once he's up I might need help getting him to my car. Can you hold him up?" He nods again. "Good. Then let's get to work." Her voice is harsh, and she turns her back on him like a door slamming shut.

She advances cautiously towards the tree even though her legs burn to run. The sodden ground beneath her boots squashes, the muffled crack of wet twigs hardly audible above the whisper of the trees overhead. The first sight she catches of Geralt is his pale leg and torn, bloody sock. Rounding the tree, she can see that he's damp and filthy, lax as a corpse save for the breath that causes his shoulders to rise and fall, helpless in a way she's never seen him before. Despite how she'd braced herself the sight hits her like a hammer to the stomach.

The searing sensation returns, lodged up under her ribs like a molten splinter. Her eyes grow hot, jaw working as she tries to maintain her composure. The heat is just a sensation, she reminds herself. She keeps her breath steady, using it to bank the fire in her chest into something cold and razor-sharp, something powerful she can wield to get her through this moment.

When she feels steady again she opens her eyes, taking a last appraisal of Geralt. His head and neck seem to be intact, no major cuts or bruises at least. His limbs are dirty and scratched, but there's no mangling, no open fractures. Satisfied, she kneels down, mind whirring along on chill rails now. She beckons Julian closer. "Stand there, I need the light," she orders. "Point the flashlight away from his eyes, and keep your trap shut. I'm going to try and wake him now."

His throat bobs and he nods, coming around the side of the oak tree to stand where she'd indicated. He points the flashlight off to the side, giving her enough light to see by as she tucks her own light back into her bag. Feeling self-conscious, Yennefer turns back to Geralt. She brushes her soft, cool fingers over his cheek, giving time for the sensation to register. He startles to wakefulness like he's been hit with a cattle prod, stuttering for air.

"Kochany," she says, nearly as startled as he is at the explosion of movement but still staying with him, trying to get his attention. She can't catch his roving eyes. His shoulders heave in an effort to get himself upright, but he can't seem to get purchase, as if something heavy is weighing him down. In a blind panic, he scrabbles at the earth as if he can get ahold of it and haul himself free. On sheer instinct Yennefer grabs his hands, unable to stand the sound of his nails in the mud. <<Hey, hey Geralt, stop! I'm right here. You're safe, I've got you, I've got you!>>

He flinches hard, pulling back, but just as quickly he's reaching out again, fumbling to catch her hands as if he's afraid they'll vanish. She waits, her face a mask. He squeezes her, feeling each finger as if he's trying to be sure the hands he's touching are really hers. She frowns, trying to catch his gaze, trying to get that spark of recognition, but it's like he can't find his way out of himself to see her. His eyes are always shifting, never present, and they can't seem to focus on anything for more than a brief moment. A slick feeling of unease goes down her spine as she realizes that wherever Geralt is, it's far away from here.

She looks up at Julian, who is watching with his lips pressed in a thin line, then back at Geralt. Present or not, she still has to get him someplace safe. She racks her brains as she squeezes his hands, leaning in and placing her lips close to his ear. This close she can hear the harshness of his breath and smell the acrid stink of smoke on his skin, mingling with his fear-soured sweat. Nothing she can think of feels right to say, but she has to try. <<Sweetheart, we have to go now,>> she hazards, feeling stupid and hollow. <<You have to follow me, and I need you to stay with me no matter what happens. Can you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying? You need to follow me. Get up. I'll help you get up, just follow me.>>

It's like throwing words down a well. The only answer she gets is the squeak of Geralt's teeth grinding. Insecurity swirls inside of her, picking and plucking at her resolve. She scowls, then abruptly pulls her hands away and stands, unable to be ignored down there in the cold dirt for another moment. To her surprise he follows, rising painfully on to his hands and knees at last. The flash of relief she feels is small but potent. It's enough to help her rally, keeping her feet rooted where they ought to be, helping her find her tongue again.

<<That's right, sweetheart, up you go,>> she murmurs, noticing distantly how cold and numb her lips feel, like they aren't quite hers as she talks. He flinches as he tries to rise, curling around his injured hip with a growl of pain. She tries to set her feet to improve her leverage, but she can't get good purchase with the knurled and slippery roots of the oak tree poking through the shifting soil. Grimacing, she realizes she can't lift him safely on her own. She looks over his shoulder at Julian, calculating the chance of Geralt lashing out at him, and decides that Julian looks sturdy enough to risk it.

"Come here now. Give me the shoe."

He hands it to her, a look of distaste on his face which she echoes as she takes the blasted soggy thing. Then she turns back to Geralt, slipping it onto his foot. He grunts, reflexively pulling his foot away, but she doggedly follows him with all the practice of a mother who's wrangled an angry child one too many times. It doesn't take long to get it on his foot, and in the end, he relaxes, seemingly relieved. And no wonder. His foot looked like hell, and even a soggy shoe would feel better than resting on the muddy, prickly forest floor.

Yennefer places her hands on her thighs and levers herself up. She turns to Julian, wiping her hands regretfully on her pants. They were ruined already, but still. "I need you to help me get him up," she commands, her quiet voice carrying in the damp night air. "Go slow. Don't startle him."

There's a clipped tone that Julian seems to pick up on. He studies her face, meeting her hard violet gaze with a thoughtful look. Then he nods and begins to slowly approach, keeping his body small and his hands out where Geralt can see them.

Yennefer gives him another critical glance, then turns back to Geralt, talking him through what's happening. "Ok, I'm going to get you up, we're going back to the car. Your friend is going to help us, here he comes..." Geralt sucks in a startled breath when Julian's hand first touches him, shying away.

"Hey, now, Geralt... it's just me. Come on, big guy, let's get you up," Julian soothes under Yennefer's watchful eye, tilting his head to catch Geralt's gaze and offer him a charming smile. He has no more success than Yennefer did at catching Geralt's gaze but that doesn't stop Julian from talking. It's like he's been uncorked, and he continues talking with a faint air of relief as he cajoles cooperation from Geralt. It takes some doing, but between the two of them Geralt eventually allows Julian to coax his arm to rest across Julian's shoulders.

From there they coax him upright. Julian wheezes and does his best not to stagger as Geralt droops against him, holding him with an iron grip to keep him from falling back to the ground. Then Julian shifts his grip until he's taking the worst of the weight off of Geralt's injured leg, a determined furrow in his brow.

Yennefer ducks under Geralt's arm on the other side and leans in hard, grabbing the back of Geralt's shorts in her fist to stabilize him. Geralt groans, struggling to get and keep his feet under him, slowly dragging them forward because he is too damn heavy to hold without staggering.

Jutting her jaw determinedly, she flicks her flashlight on with her other hand and leans into his motion, thighs straining as she nudges him until he is going the right way. They shamble forward in a disjointed fashion, inching back the way that they came. Geralt moves like a dreamer, heavy-limbed and adrift from the world around them. She listens to the harsh sound of his breath in the darkness, fist aching as she holds the back of his shorts. He is heavy, and wet, and he stinks. Clammy dampness seeps off of him, soaking into her own shirt and making her skin crawl. Swallowing back a shudder, she forces herself to focus on the faint tracks that are her lifeline, leading them all back towards the vehicles.

Everything after that is a soul-draining slog through the dark undergrowth. By the time they near the final scrubby slope, Yennefer's legs have been abraded by the low-lying prickers and her muscles are screaming. All she wants is to be in the car, driving towards tea and dry clothing. Julian doesn't seem to be faring much better, his face pale and set as he steadies Geralt down towards the vehicles.

A burned stink lingers in the air as they get lower down the slope, reeking of charred plastic, oil, and meat. Yennefer notices Geralt's breathing catch and speed up and she bites back a curse. She tightens her grip on him as his muscles tense. He makes an aborted attempt to run and groans when the pain of his injury pulls him up short. The weight of him sends them all lurching sideways, causing Yennefer to curse the air blue. Julian grits his teeth and sets his legs, determinedly but gently pushing him the other way with all the skill of someone who's juggled drunks for a living. Yennefer gets her feet back under herself and sets her back into the effort as well, and together through sheer dint of will they begin moving in the right direction again.

<<Keep going, you fucking bastard, just a few more feet, then you and I can have a rest>> she pants, as much for her own benefit as Geralt's. <<Fuck, you can do this, you can do this, it's just some fucking smoke, come on->> She hauls him towards the rental with a single-minded focus, impatience mounting with every balk until they're finally at the rental car. She can't care what he's feeling or thinking about anymore, she just has to get him in the fucking backseat before she drops him.

When they finally get there she breathes a sigh of relief, putting her hand on the silver hood of the car. Julian sags too, arm still wrapped firmly around Geralt to keep him steady. The prospect of getting to sit and be out of the damp makes her hasty. She opens the rear door without a thought, eager to get Geralt settled so that she can finally relax. A gust of stale, chemical air rolls out of the rental car. She barely notices it.

That's when all hell breaks loose.

Geralt tenses and she realizes her mistake a moment too late. In his panicked inhale she can hear the nightmare moment he'd shoved her behind a concrete column, the roar of gunfire, the reek of gasoline- Cursing, she grabs for him in the instant before he rears back, flailing his arms like a sleeper in a nightmare. In the ensuing scuffle he pushes her with enough force to send her flying into the muddy gravel. Julian catches one of his elbows in the stomach for his efforts, staggering back and grabbing at the car to steady himself. He doubles over wheezing, winded but unhurt, as Geralt pivots toward the safety of the forest. A slick stone loosened by the rain turns under his foot, he steps with his lamed leg to keep his balance, and then with a flinch that makes her own leg hurt in sympathy he's down in the mud right next to her. He lands with a sharp groan, curling around his injury again.

Yennefer bites back the urge to scream, her fingers digging into the ground. One fist balls around a smooth, round rock, and she finds herself squeezing it with all of her might. Then in a viper-fast motion she slings it into the bushes where it gives a satisfying 'crash.' Geralt and Julian both startle, but she's past giving a fuck.

She scrambles to her feet panting, muddy, itchy, and ready to break something. Instead, she makes a sharp gesture to Julian to close the rental's door. He does so, and her lip curves down in a one-sided grimace.

"Dare I ask?" he wheezes, still half out of breath. He does his best to shake it off, leaning down with her to gently gather Geralt back up. He gets his strong legs into the lift, again making sure that Geralt is off of his bad leg as he sways to his feet.

"He hates rental cars. Long story," she replies between gritted teeth. The muscles along her spine twinge and quiver, protesting to the prolonged awkwardness of her position. She'll be fine for a little longer, but tomorrow's going to hurt.

"You don't say," he drawls, as they stagger away from the rental. "Well then... ah... fuck. What do you want to do?"

Yennefer furrows her brow, looking at the little silver car, her own body ringing from the jarring memory Geralt's reaction had brought out. It makes the reek from the wreck across the way so much worse, her skin crawling. "I won't be able to get him in there tonight," she says. I won't be able to get myself in there tonight, the unwelcome thought follows. "What about a cab?" she half-jokes, looking longingly back in the direction of the city. Inside, she is carefully rolling up the memory, sliding it into a metal canister, and locking it. By the time she looks back at him it is stowed out of sight, unable to distract or torture her any longer.

"Ha!" Julian wheezes out a shallow, painful chuckle. "I dare say a cab might take some time to arrive at this hour." He pauses, darting his tongue across his lips. When Yennefer's lip quirks up the faintest bit, he continues. "I can drive you back if you want. I can't guarantee my car smells of roses but it's right there and-"

She rolls her eyes skyward. "Just- Yes. Just shut up and move," she says, already heading in the direction of Julian's tacky little sedan.

Julian's car, when they open the door, wafts the faint odor of cigarettes and the strong smell of artificial strawberry. Yennefer backs into the car, noting out of the corner of her eye that there is a heart-shaped air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. To her disgust, it is absolutely covered in pink glitter. She grimaces as she crawls in, turning awkwardly so that she can take Geralt's dirty, cold hands in her own. She talks to him softly, getting whatever shreds of his attention she can gather, and then she begins to tow him into the car. He allows her to do so, settling painfully into the small backseat. Julian passes her the belt, and she buckles him in, the hairs on her neck settling in the wake of the seat belt's click. Then he passes her a dry towel and a bottle of water. While she begins the process of getting Geralt and herself dry and perhaps slightly cleaner, Julian gets back in the front seat and starts the car.

"Where to?" he asks.

"Hotel."

"You've got it."

The light of the moon flickers in between the clouds, shining through the windows of the vehicle. Yennefer offers him the bottle of water, trying to grab his attention long enough to get him to drink. She finally resorts to pressing it to his lips. He just bats it away, and she's too frustrated and burnt out to argue with him about it. Giving up for now, she tucks the water bottle aside. She watches him from the corner of her eye, waiting for further outbursts, but no.

The gentle motion of the car seems to pacify Geralt. He puts his hands over his face and goes still, his harsh breath quieting. Yennefer continues to keep a weather eye as she finishes wiping the worst of the mud off of herself. Her suit's ruined, but at least she's on her way back to safety. She tucks the towel around her shoulders when she's done with it, putting the towel between the seat and her muddy blazer. Then she settles back. The sound of the engine drowns the noise of Geralt's soft, grating breaths of pain, and Julian for once in his life has the sense to leave the dial of the radio alone. She sinks into a torpor of her own, watching the silver-dipped leaves twist overhead in the wind.

The forested roads give way to suburbs, and then the city rises around them. Bridge lights, bright yellow, glare into their car at intervals as they enter the city proper. Yennefer straightens, glancing at Geralt, beginning to think through the process of getting him into the hotel. As much as she'd like to stick him on a bellhop's cart at the entrance and save herself the trouble of schlepping him into the elevator, there's no way she's putting them all at risk. That means the parking garage, and the elevator. Luckily, their suite isn't far from there. Then it's good night Julian and on to their own little private hell. If she's lucky, Coen will pick up the phone and she'll be able to get some real support out of someone.

Driven by that thought, she leans forward, eager as they turn onto the back street that leads to the parking garage. In her mind she is walking through the steps of getting settled in the hotel room, of getting clean, of figuring out what the hell to do with Geralt. That's why she doesn't think to look at Geralt as they're heading down the slope into the garage. The orange sodium light of the concrete structure floods the car, and there is a distinctive, echoing squeak as the vehicle makes a turn down a row of cars.

Geralt's head rears back and he lets out a terrified snarl, arching against his seatbelt like he's a netted fish. He claws at it, as if he's shocked to find himself constrained. Julian lets out a startled shout, the car swerving slightly and then righting itself. Before Yennefer can properly react Geralt's turned his attention to the door, wrenching at the handle, only to find it locked. Instead of trying to find the release mechanism he slams himself against the the window, rebounding painfully before gathering himself to try again.

"FUCK!" Yennefer shouts, diving across the car in the blink of an eye, "Son of a fucking whore! Fuck, fuck!" Awash in fresh adrenaline, she wrestles with Geralt, trying to properly restrain him before he can rip the handle off or worse, do himself some real damage as he batters himself against the window like a trapped bird. In the front seat Julian is swearing too, pulling the car out of another startled swerve as he fights his instinct to look over his shoulder at the chaos in the backseat. Yennefer tangles herself in Geralt's limbs with all the ferocity of an angry snake, grappling to get a grip.

"Fucking hell!" Julian cries, pulling a screeching corner at the end of the row of parked vehicles and heading back towards the entrance. "What the fucking- What do I do?!"

"I don't know! Think of something!" she yells back, straining to keep Geralt contained. She's got him now but her grip is awkward, fingers starting to slip as he struggles against her. She might know how to use leverage well, but in a contest of sheer strength she can't win.

"Right, sure, I'll just do that! Bloody brilliant!" Julian pulls the car around towards the entrance and looks twice, making sure his way is clear, then guns the engine. The car goes screeching out of the garage and up, around the corner and off into the night. He heads for the only place he knows, the only place he feels he can go- home.

By that time Yennefer has gotten in a position to properly thwart Geralt. She holds onto him, sweat and filth and all, as he bucks and wrangles beneath her like an eel. And she spits and yells like an angry fishwife, all composure momentarily lost. Her hair comes unbound in the struggle and spills out of her braid, surrounding her face in a halo of scented curls.

They surround Geralt, too, filling his world with the sudden piercing sweetness of lilac and gooseberry. In his face the scent is overwhelming, smelling undeniably of home. He sucks in a startled breath, and then another, stunned to realize that he's not- wherever he was- A smear of light through a muddy window, he is bound with his back against- He shakes his head to clear it. He can't make sense of the world around him, can't even make sense of the world inside him, but this he knows. He gives a shuddering breath, turning towards her.

Yennefer half can't believe it when Geralt goes limp, but her aching muscles are beyond grateful for the relief. Shoving aside the brewing storm of anger, terror, and loneliness inside of herself, she gathers him against herself. She murmurs softly like she would to their child, trying to soothe him, trying to reassure herself.

He turns his face into her cheek and breathes her in, burying his face in her hair. The swaying of the car makes him dizzy, his head hurts, his head hurts... The medical transport sways, finally on a smooth road at last after hours of bumping over what felt like fucking boulders. His head screamed and throbbed, and the IV felt like an ice pick hanging out of his arm...

She holds him, pressing his head against her shoulder and shielding him. It’s the first time he’s truly turned to her for comfort all night, and she’d brave all the filthy, clammy shirts in the world to hold him just a little tighter. They sway together in the gentle motion of the vehicle as it navigates out of the city, back into the suburbs.

It’s no surprise when Julian pulls up in the driveway of his home. Where else would they go at this time of night? It is, she thinks as she looks out the window, possibly one of the last places she wants to be right now. But it’s better than- well, there’s a great number of things it’s better than, many of which didn’t bear thinking about. So when he carefully opens the car door for her, she gives him a tight smile. She delicately disentangles herself from Geralt, who has sunk back into the dream-like state in which they found him, and allows Julian to help her out of the car.

Geralt doesn’t move an inch.

That’s probably for the best at the moment, all things considered. She closes the door quietly behind her. Then she turns to Julian, raising her eyebrow as they assess each other in the streetlight. Both of them are pale and dirty now, worn ragged by the long search and sorely frightened by the outburst they’d just weathered.

“You look like shit,” she points out, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Julian gives her a weary smirk, taking in Yennefer’s stained white shirt and bedraggled, dirty suit. “Speak for yourself.” He glances down at the keys in his hand to find the housekey. Then his eyes lift silently to the car, looking through the backseat window before returning to hers.

She nods, understanding the silent question. “I don’t know if he’ll be ok. We have to get him inside first, get him clean… Then we can worry about everything else.”

Julian nods, then hesitates. “Do- ah, do you mind if I ask what that was all about? With the garage?”

Yennefer’s lip pulls down at the corner. “Same reason he doesn't like rental cars,” she answers simply. And with that, she turns away and walks to the other side of the car before he can ask any more.

Her mind races as she approaches Geralt’s side of the car, her attention shifting to him now. He stares fixedly at the back of the seat. She cautiously opens the door, bracing for another fight. Instead he barely stirs, even when the balmy night air hits him. He is still uncomfortably clammy to the touch as she gives him a hand out of the car and Julian slides his arm around him again, nudging Geralt's arm up around his shoulders. Together, they gently impel him towards the house.

Julian ushers them up the wheelchair ramp and into the house, closing the door behind them. “Bring him back here,” he says, gesturing to an open bedroom door immediately across from the entryway.

Unlike the rest of the house, it’s well-lit and welcoming, and another light spilling from the bathroom is probably the finest thing Yennefer has seen all night. Julian helps her coax Geralt into the bathroom, setting him down on the lid of the toilet where his injured leg can finally rest. Geralt lets out a relieved hiss, sagging with an air of defeated exhaustion. She and Julian share a private look of concern over his dirty shoulders, then he shows her where the towel cabinet is. Then, he points to the first aid kit tucked into that same cabinet. The whole bathroom is tiled and open, with a removable shower head coiled and hung on the wall and a drain on the floor. There is a shower bench tucked in the corner, and textured strips on the floor to prevent slipping. The whole setup makes the daunting prospect of getting Geralt clean seem a little easier.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jaskier asks, hanging back from the doorway a little bit.

“Clean clothes for both of us,” Yennefer says. “Nothing gaudy.” She gives him a sharp look of warning.

“You’ve got it,” Jaskier replies without complaint or argument, as if he senses this is not the time to play. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Feel free to use the bed if either of you need rest.” Turning, he indicates a queen sized bed with a plush comforter. There is a white crocheted cotton blanket on top, picked with a delicate pattern of flowers.

“Thank you,” Yennefer says curtly, then closes the bathroom door.

She turns to Geralt on the closed toilet and cups his chin in her hand, pursing her lips. <<What are we going to do with you?>> she sighs, switching back to Polish. She doesn’t expect an answer and doesn’t get one. He drops his eyes to the corner of the room and grimaces. Her lips quirk and she runs her hand across his head, dislodging bits of forest onto the clean bathroom floor. <<Ok, then. Shoes off,>> she signs as she speaks, hoping that this, at least, will be easier for Geralt to track. Geralt lifts his gaze after a moment and follows the movements of her hands. She repeats the phrase and he blinks. Then, slow as a glacier, he bends down and fumbles them off of his feet.

Grimacing, she picks them up and carries them briskly out of the bathroom. They're too filthy to ever wear again, and she can't stand the sight of them for another moment. The shoes even feel wrong in her hands, filling her with a surge of revulsion and anger. They are still stiff and new beneath the grime despite how battered they look, and they reek of ditch water and skunk cabbage. She stalks out of the house with them, shaking slightly. The shaking doesn’t stop until she’s tossed them them into the bin at the side of the house. She slams the lid with a CLAP! loud enough to start a neighbor's dog barking, then walks stiff-legged back to the front porch.

It’s only then that she feels some measure of relief. She takes a moment to pause and breathe the fresh night air, her skin still crawling as she feels the filth clinging to her hands. The sweet humidity after the storm smells good, cut through with fresh zephyrs carrying the green smell of thirsty trees who've had a drink at last. It grounds her, bringing her back to herself bit by bit.

When she feels more herself, she walks back inside. The house is lit now, and Julian is in the kitchen hovering over a kettle. He's still in his dirty shirt and shorts, bedraggled and tired. Somehow, without all the glamor he usually projects, he feels more like a person now to her. Less like a performance. He raises his hand to greet her, then beckons her. She gives him a short nod, pausing to remove her boots before crossing to the kitchen. She makes a beeline for the sink, scrubbing the filth and stink off of her hands at last. He pulls down an extra cup and opens his tea cupboard.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks quietly. There are shadows under his eyes, but his gaze is frank and gentle.

Her eyes dart to the guest room door, ears straining for sound. "I don't-"

Julian glances over his shoulder as well, then meets her gaze again. “He seems fine. I’ve been keeping an ear on him while the kettle heats up.” He purses his lips, looking her from head to foot, noticing the tension in her posture. “Why don’t I bring you a cup in there?”

Yennefer pauses, giving him a long, calculating look. He looks back awkwardly. He seems exhausted, but not hostile. She relents, grabbing the towel to dry off her hands. “Do you have spearmint?”

“I do! Cream and sugar?” Julian sounds relieved, turning back to his cabinet.

“Yes,” Yennefer says, looking towards the back of the house again. “I like it sweet. I’ll be in the back, just leave it on the nightstand.” She tucks the towel back into place and walks away, hearing the creak and hiss of the kettle behind her as she goes. It looks like it is going to be a long night, but to her bemusement, at least she can actually have some fucking tea.

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