Accelerated healing was part of a witcher's mutations. Their capable bodies had been broken down in terrible and inhumane ways only to be taught-- if they managed to live through the teaching-- how to be better. Faster. Stronger. Reflexes sharpened likes fresh blades on a whetstone, spells and concoctions fine-tuning nerves and muscles to make predators out of young boys. Blood and humors added to and divided from until they were specialized, efficient. These were the only reason why, laid out on a table in this stinking town with only a bard and a midwife to help him, Geralt's body kept breathing. His already low pulse kept blood pumping. It was all that he could manage but it was enough and, as wound after wound was stitched, he began to retain more blood than he lost.
At first there was nothing but blackness. Geralt wasn't present; there was no light to step into. It was just cold, and dark, and he only lay there unknowing, not being. The sun rose and ticked across the sky and his skin was pulled slowly together with silk and the bite of alcohol against soft, vulnerable tissue was nothing. People came and went. Jaskier worked. Geralt was not present. There was just his breathing, his blood on the table.
At some point the blackness shifted. It didn't lighten but he became aware of it enough to know that it had filled with the chattering of teeth. There was no telling if it was an echo from his body inward or a memory of the thing that had stalked him in the marsh and though Geralt was not prone to nightmares, the veil was not sleep. If he screamed, it was only in his mind. And he did. He screamed over and over and no one heard him. It felt like the monsters was taking bites of him... small, focused bites with razor-sharp teeth. Geralt tried to thrash but his world tilted instead of him. It was like his limbs were weighted down, stuck. Another thing that had been taught to the boys of Kaer Morhen was will-power but rail as Geralt might he could do nothing by lay in the blackness and let himself be slowly eaten as the sound of teeth shook and clattered around him. Eventually the darkness devoured him again and he welcomed it, even if it was death.
Time passed. The sun moved again, this time back toward the horizon.
When it was nearing the horizon Geralt leapt through the darkness, though he wasn't awake. An arm that had been lying prone for so long jumped and iron fingers wrapped around the closest wrist, squeezing too tightly. His yellow eyes opened and looked without seeing. "Fuck off," he growled. "It's been done and you can't do anything for it. Fuck your money. Fuck your destiny." He yanked Jaskier closer and then his face spasmed in pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he panted heavily as his brows furrowed. For just a moment his eyes cleared.
"Jaskier?"
And then the darkness again had it's way with him.
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At first there was nothing but blackness. Geralt wasn't present; there was no light to step into. It was just cold, and dark, and he only lay there unknowing, not being. The sun rose and ticked across the sky and his skin was pulled slowly together with silk and the bite of alcohol against soft, vulnerable tissue was nothing. People came and went. Jaskier worked. Geralt was not present. There was just his breathing, his blood on the table.
At some point the blackness shifted. It didn't lighten but he became aware of it enough to know that it had filled with the chattering of teeth. There was no telling if it was an echo from his body inward or a memory of the thing that had stalked him in the marsh and though Geralt was not prone to nightmares, the veil was not sleep. If he screamed, it was only in his mind. And he did. He screamed over and over and no one heard him. It felt like the monsters was taking bites of him... small, focused bites with razor-sharp teeth. Geralt tried to thrash but his world tilted instead of him. It was like his limbs were weighted down, stuck. Another thing that had been taught to the boys of Kaer Morhen was will-power but rail as Geralt might he could do nothing by lay in the blackness and let himself be slowly eaten as the sound of teeth shook and clattered around him. Eventually the darkness devoured him again and he welcomed it, even if it was death.
Time passed. The sun moved again, this time back toward the horizon.
When it was nearing the horizon Geralt leapt through the darkness, though he wasn't awake. An arm that had been lying prone for so long jumped and iron fingers wrapped around the closest wrist, squeezing too tightly. His yellow eyes opened and looked without seeing. "Fuck off," he growled. "It's been done and you can't do anything for it. Fuck your money. Fuck your destiny." He yanked Jaskier closer and then his face spasmed in pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he panted heavily as his brows furrowed. For just a moment his eyes cleared.
"Jaskier?"
And then the darkness again had it's way with him.