#working on that hurt comort darlings

[dapandapod]

Leave behind your heart 4/5

Hi darlings!! Two things;

firstly, I decided to pour water on my computer two days ago and I am a little scared to turn it on, so this update comes to you from my tablet! And i am feeling super hightech about it.

secondly, today is the year dat (year!! date!!) of when I published the first chapter, and I really meant for it to be finished by today, because fun? But uh. Water on computer, and when I tried to finish it up, I realized this one needs another chapter. So Hurray? Another chapter coming!

Please enjoy, and hopefully the last chapter will be the last and be here somewhat soon

Warnings: pining, almost sex, light-ish angst? Idiots, the both of them, i guess a little creepy with witchers sprouting flowers?

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3            Part 5  On ao3

Jaskier arrives late at night to Vizima. It's too late to strike a good deal for a room for the night, and he ends up having to play for his upkeep. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but ever since he realized that he is in love with Geralt, it’s been getting worse. Now he can pinpoint the reason behind every petal, every leaf. And there are so many of them now, because he can’t stop thinking about Geralt.

Geralt and his gentle hands. Geralt and his peculiar way of showing he cares. Geralt and his crooked smile when Jaskier sends him a wink.

It is too much to bear. 

He can only hope Geralt never figures out what kills him, if Shani doesn’t find an answer. This is the one thing he won’t lay on Geralt, this burden of his feelings that neither of them can do anything about.

Geralt, because he can’t return them, and Jaskier because he can’t stop feeling them.

So when Jaskier finds himself in the corner of the inn this evening, slightly elevated on the small stage and everyone's eyes on him, Jaskier feels it coming.

The itching in the back of his throat when his eyes sweep over the corners of the room, searching in vain for a familiar face.

He  takes a deep breath and plucks on the lute anyway. Sleeping outside is not as fun without proper company.

 Jaskier sings, gently and achingly sweet. He doesn’t have it in him to pull out the bawdy tunes, doesn’t have the energy to jump around and flirt. When the applause comes, he discreetly coughs into his handkerchief. Closing it quickly and hiding it, not wanting to see the drops of blood that stain the small petals.

 Shani greets him warmly when Jaskier finds her in the temple the next day. She pulls him into a hug and kisses his cheeks. But when he doesn’t flirt as he usually does, she frowns and pulls him with her to somewhere more private.

 “What is wrong, Jaskier? This is not a pleasure visit, is it?” Shani asks, sitting them down on a bench, still holding his hands in hers. Jaskier smiles at her sadly.

“As happy as I am to see you, my sweet, it is not.”

“What’s wrong? Is it Geralt? Are you sick?”

 Jaskier draws in a breath, but breaks into a coughing fit instead. He doesn’t hold back now, bending forward, eyes tearing up from the force of it.

Shani's hand is on his back, gentle and reassuring, and not the one he longs for.

He catches the petals and the blood droplets in his handkerchief and doesn’t hide it from her.

This is why he is here after all.

 “Oh Jaskier,” Shani says quietly when she notices.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jaskier whispers. “I don’t want to die.”

 ~~ 

 Geralt pushes Roach hard. It is not fair to her, he knows, but he can’t help himself. A sense of urgency is driving him forward, wishing, hoping, wanting to fix this.

 When they rest by the road at night, Roach taken care of and a lonely fire going, Geralt thinks. He thinks about Jaskier touching his hand, how it made flowers bloom. He thinks of Jaskier's smile, so easy and bright like a ray of sun. He thinks of the churning feeling every time he sees Jaskier seduce someone else, and the unease of leaving him behind for Yennefer.

It is strange. It makes his heart ache.

In a sense he always knew, but presented with the pieces like this, it is crystal clear. The spot next to his bedroll is empty. The night is too quiet. No poetry or lyrics or limericks are being thrown his way.

Because Jaskier left him.

 That thought alone rocks his resolution. Jaskier is in love, and he left Geralt behind. Jaskier never said a word about love. Not since the countess, and not since Yennefer.

What could Geralt possibly say to make the flowers go away? I love you?

Just the thought of saying it makes something tighten inside of him. His arm stings, and when he pulls the sleeve up, he can see another flowerbud has broken through his skin.

There is barely any blood, but the skin is angry and red.

The flowerbud is beautiful. Cornflower blue. Like Jaskier's eyes, he realizes. 

He can feel the vine tightening its grip around his arm, flexing under his skin.

 He wonders who wouldn’t love Jaskier back. Who makes him cough flowers? Yennefer seems to think things will be resolved if only they talked but… what if it doesn’t? 

He left Jaskier first. Time and time again, he left Jaskier behind.

 But still, Geralt pushes towards Vizima. He clings to the selfish hope, the selfish need of seeing Jaskier again.

 He doesn’t want to die alone.

 ~~

 Shani sits quietly until Jaskier has gathered himself.

“So you are part elf?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, wiping at his mouth. He doesn’t like that there is this much blood now.

 Another beat of silence.

 “And you finally figured out you love him.”

 Jaskier's heart clenches. It is hard to breathe. She doesn’t even ask who. Is it really that obvious?

 “Does he know?” 

“That I’m part elf? Doubt it.”

“Jaskier.”

“I can’t tell him. I’m dying, and I won’t lay that burden on him.” Jaskier leans back against the wall and Shani moves her hand to his leg.

 His hands are shaking, so he closes them into fists, clenching the handkerchief tight.

 “Even if he loves you back?”

“He doesn’t.”

“But what if?”

“Then I wouldn’t be dying, would I?”

 Shani shuts her mouth at that. She looks like she doesn’t believe him, but she says nothing.

 “Help me, Shani. There must be something I can do?”

“There is,” she says quietly. “But you won’t like it.”

“I won’t tell him.”

“Will you stop loving him then?” Shani snaps back. “Fall out of love? Because there are only three ends to Hanahaki.”

 Shani’s hand is heavy on his thigh, and Jaskier closes his eyes. When he breathes out, he can almost feel the petals fluttering in his lungs.

 “I…”  Can’t. Won’t. Don’t want to. Jaskier doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, but Shani reads it on him anyway.

“Just talk to him,” she whispers, pleads. “Just try. Heaven knows that man keeps more bottled up inside than anyone I ever met. Maybe he's hiding something in there for you.”

 They sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the bustling of the temple around them.

 “I don’t want you to die, Jaskier. Not like this.” Shani leans into his side, and he wraps an arm around her.

“But it would be rather poetic, wouldn’t it?” Jaskier replies, but fear and sorrow lies in him, shedding one petal at the time.

 ~

 Geralt is resting at a crossroad when the calm breaks. He knew there were people behind him, but he had expected them to be merchants or soldiers or just common travelers.

They were not.

The first arrow misses; Geralt hears the soft whistle through the air and shifts out of the way moments before he registers what it actually was. Next, a man with a giant axe is running towards him, howling his warcry. Fucking bandits.

Geralt shapes his left hand to form Aard, but his arm is stiff and unwilling. The vines stiffen around his muscles, his skin too tight. It almost feels like it will rip. 

The man with the axe is closer now, and another arrow shoots through the air.

Geralt dodges to the side, but that places him in striking range of a man behind the first, armed with a sword and dagger. Geralt throws his sword up just in time, the blow making his arm shake from the force of it, and he has to jump back from the dagger aiming for his ribs.

Behind him, he can hear Roach startle. She has seen many battles before, and she knows when it’s time to run. The last thing he wants is to have her get hit by a stray slash or an arrow.

 Again, Geralt tries to raise his arm, this time for a Quen. It doesn’t take as big a movement, but something is wrong. He can feel it building in the tips of his fingers, but then his glove feels tighter, and only a vague glow appears around him.

Fuck.

 The fight after that is messy. Geralt has to rely on his swordsmanship, which is excellent, but his body is fighting him. He thought the vines and flowers were limited to his left arm, but now he feels something tightening over the right side of his ribs. He swears colorfully, and with a big swipe finishes the man with the axe.

Geralt pants heavily, his left arm close to his body, and stares the swordsman down. He looks young, still untouched by the violence around him.

 “Run,” Geralt says, stepping over the body of the axeman. He hears another arrow whistle past, and he just bends out of its way, never taking his eyes off the young swordsman.

“Run, or I will kill you too.”

 It works. The youngster tucks his tail between his legs and runs off, the bowman swearing protests from where he hides.

 Geralt can hear them flee, and he sags in relief. There is no saying how much more he could have taken. The blades barely touched him, but he can feel blood warm on the inside of his shirt arm where the skin broke from the exertion. 

 He walks towards the crossroad sign, sits down and leans back against it. Why the fuck didn’t his signs work?

Geralt pulls off his glove, wanting to glare his hand into submission. But on the back of his hand, the little flower bud has bloomed. It’s bigger than before, and there is a soft, flickering gold shimmer around it. It absorbed his Quen. Grew from it.

So that’s how it works.

 Geralt leans his head back, closing his eyes.

This is not good.

 ~

 Shani offers to let Jaskier stay with her in the temple, but Jaskier declines. At least for now. He has to think, feel. Write. Probably prepare for what he knows is about to happen.

Jaskier hides his coughing as best he can. He orders food to his room, not wanting to be around other people. Somehow it makes him feel more alone, and that is something he doesn’t want for himself.

 Jaskier lights the candles as the sun sets, and in the flickering shadows he writes.

He knows he cannot write of what is killing him, or who rather, because Geralt is bound to find it eventually. But he can write about other things. Of his friends many deeds. Of Yennefer, of Ciri, of the hidden things meant only for them.

  ~

 The town of Vizima is alive with motion and sounds and smells. Geralt likes and dislikes it. It is easier to hide in the masses, not standing out like a sore thumb at all times, just being a no one.

But it is also so much. All impressions, the indifference to each other's suffering, the stench of so many lives squeezed into one place. Yennefer likes to drag him between towns. Or liked. He isn’t sure she will anymore. But she flourishes in places like this, enjoying the play of power. 

 Walking down the street draws more stares than usual. More flowers have punched through his skin, buds and petals in different sizes forcing themselves into the open. Some of them shimmer with the strength of his signs, flowers vibrating with color and power. Some of them are hidden painfully underneath his armor, but the one growing at his temple is hard to hide.

He is still limping from the fight with the bandits, still bruised and aching.

 Passing through the city gates, he wonders where to start. Yennefer mentioned Shani. Maybe he can find her practice. Maybe she knows something. Anything.

 Geralt sets out, heading towards the temples. If he is familiar with anything in Vizima, it is with the healers. It’s been a while, but things have stayed roughly the same. The same old cobbled street and coughing beggars, the same old frauds trying to sell their 'miracle' remedies, curing impotency and smallpox and your neighbours cat’s itching.

 He finds Shani’s in Melitele’s temple, tending to a dwarf with a broken elbow. When she notices Geralt, her eyes widen and her mouth falls open, fastening the splint a little too tight so the dwarf makes a complaining sound.

 “Sorry,” she mumbles, waving to one of the priestesses to take over, and then she hurries to Geralt’s side.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Shani says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She puts her hand on Geralt’s arm, right on top of one of the new buds, and he winces and pulls back.

“You alright?” she says, smile faltering, looking at him closer, noticing the flower at his temple. “Why are you wearing a-... Oh.”

“Yeah,” Geralt grumbles, grabbing her hand reaching out to touch it, and pulling it back down. “Please don’t. It’s tender. Can we talk?”

 Shani looks troubled but nods.

 She leads them off to a secluded little rose garden, its smell so sweet it is almost overpowering. Geralt can’t join her on the little stone bench. His body itches with the need to move, to do something, even though he is exhausted. 

 “Will you tell me about it?” Shani asks carefully, indicating the flowers that are sprouting from him. Geralt hums, he really doesn’t know where to begin.

“Yennefer said it’s a form of hanahaki,” he ventures, and Shani’s jaw drops.

“You… hanahaki?”

“It’s what the flowers are. Yennefer said magic wielders can get it too, but instead of coughing them up, we grow them in our bodies.”

“Geralt that’s…” Shani looks terrified and fascinated at the same time. “How long?”

 Since Jaskier left. Since their fight. Yennefer is right, these aren’t for her, but he can’t make himself say it.

 “I don’t know,” he mumbles instead, and Shani gives him a look that tells him just how little she believes it. He sits down on the stone bench next to her, and she stands up to examine the flower by his temple better, nudging herself between his knees for better access. 

 Her fingers are gentle, but his skin is angry red and hurting. Geralt tries not to wince when she touches the stem of the flower, but she notices anyway.

 “Hurts?” she asks, instead angling his head so she can study it better.

“Yes,” he confirms, and her breath hits his face as she sighs.

“Are there more? Can I see them?”

 Geralt leans back a little and she lets go of him, but stays where she is, warm and familiar and soothing. What they had all those years ago lingers between them. He trusts her, she will not withhold truths or blunt her words.

Taking off his glove, he hisses again. The flower shimmers in the light, a second bud now joining the first. Shani gasps when she sees it, carefully grabbing his hands in hers to inspect it closer.

 “It has an aura around it,” she mumbles, turning his hand this way and that.

“I had to use Quen, but it didn’t work. I think the flower fed on it.”

“Love can be cruel and hungry,” she says, and they are silent for a beat.

“There are more flowers, aren’t there?”

“And vines.”

 Shani’s eyes widen in shock.

 “Geralt, you know exactly how long this has been going on. This is dangerous. Have you at least tried to tell Yennefer how you feel?”

“She laughed at me,” Shani’s eyes darken with rage, so Geralt hurries to correct her. “Not like that. She said these are not for her, she knows what I feel for her.”

“Do you?” Shani says, no less angry.

“I… I thought I did,” Geralt says, carefully. “I know how rare this is, and how slim the chance is to survive. But I’m not here for me, I know my odds.”

“You idiot.” Shani sighs. “You stubborn, self sacrificing idiot. Who are you here for, my dear, dumb witcher?”

 She pulls him into a half hug, his head resting against her collarbone. 

 “If you will stop insulting me for a second, I could tell you,” Geralt says, and Shani huffs goodnaturedly.

“I will, if you actually try to talk to the person of your affections about it. Do I know her?”

 “I don’t know,” Geralt admits. He thinks Shani and Jaskier know each other. Didn’t they go to school together? “You might? They talk too much, never thinks ahead, never listens to me, we always get in trouble because of them.”

 If Shani picks up on how he used ‘they’ instead, she doesn’t say, but she snorts at the description.

 “You are right, it doesn't sound like Yennefer at all.”

“I… I need to see him. If I am going to die, I want to see him just once more. I won’t lay my end on him, but I need to know he is alright.”

“Why wouldn't he be?”

“I saw Jaskier cough petals. Just before we parted. I know you can’t cure feelings, but… is there any way to help him?”

 Shani leans back to look at him, her eyes sad and serious.

 “You either love, forget, or die, Geralt. Talk to him. Maybe you can help him.”

 Fuck, that hurts. Help Jaskier find love or help him forget.  

 “Have you seen him? Yennefer thinks he is in town.”

“I have. He should probably be here soon. Please just talk to him. Be honest.”

 Geralt smiles, but he knows he can’t be.