I, too, needed your help (Geralt/Jaskier)

Chapter 3

Being scared of fire, the only source of warmth and light in the depths of a cold night. How fucking pathetic. Jaskier had to give it to the mage, he couldn't fuck up the bard's life more.

He was forced to lie furthest away from the rest of the group – dwarfs who joined them and a particular silver-haired man. If they only weren't sitting around a literal bonfire, Jaskier would have been among them. But surviving a night near burning flames was just wishful thinking to the bard.

And so, he isolated himself from the others, letting the darkness swallow him whole. Jaskier's lost, or better say thrown away, his shirt earlier so he was only wearing a coat that didn't fully cover his chest. Chills appeared on the bard's exposed skin the moment he made his way from the heat but he didn't mind.

Freezing for a few hours seemed like a much more tolerable option than being anywhere near the flames. He couldn't only stand looking at the fire, anything associated with it sent shivers down his spine. The smell – it reminded him how the mage forced Jaskier to inhale smoke until he was choking, until his lungs were burning and stinging, making the bard cough endlessly. The cracking sound of wood, painfully similar to the sizzling of the bard's skin and clothes as they caught on fire. Over and over.

"Fuck," Jaskier cursed under his breath as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the forest's ground. He leaned his back against a tilted tree, gaze fixated onto darkness ahead of him. The bard wasn't planning on sleeping throughout the night even though he excused himself because he was tired.

No, what he had in mind was to stay awake and keep a watch the whole time. If, by any chance, the fire mage showed up, Jaskier would be the first one to know and warn others. He didn't know if he was more afraid of the fire fucker that appeared in his dreams or the one that could potentially ambush them in real life, but he wasn't taking chances.

Because in real life, there was Geralt to protect him. In Jaskier's dreams, he was facing the mage alone, head-on, while completely hopeless. Pure terror was eating him alive as the bard found himself strapped to a familiar chair and tortured by now familiar methods. Because experiencing it once wasn't enough, Jaskier had to see it in his nightmares again. And again. Because he wasn't allowed to rest as he used to, not anymore. Scarred for the rest of his now – hopefully – short life.

Jaskier didn't know how much more he could endure, but being already insomniac, the bard decided to push through and stay on alert. He's heard somewhere that exhausted people didn't dream, so maybe if he wore himself out enough, there would come a dreamless sleep as a reward.

Moreover, he could be of use this way. Keeping a guard was definitely necessary, only gods knew what was hiding in these forests. Gods and maybe Geralt, who was being stingy with words as always.

"Rest," was all he said to Jaskier when the bard announced he was going to sleep. In Geralt's lacking vocabulary, it probably meant something like 'Good night Jaskier and rest well, shall you have the sweetest dreams about your adored countess,' or so the other assumed.

Jaskier didn't know how much time had passed but the dwarfs started taking turns and sleeping one by one. He couldn't tell what Geralt was doing or if he still was nearby, but he hadn't spoken a word in a while. For the witcher, it wasn't anything unusual but Jaskier was getting more and more anxious as the time passed. It must have been the exhaustion, but he was longing for security and protection, and as much as the bard hated to admit it, Geralt's presence was making him feel safe.

And maybe because of this newly acquired feeling of safety, Jaskier's eyelids gave up after what seemed like an eternity. The sunset was nowhere to be seen, just endless darkness which lulled the bard to much-despised sleep.

(A/N: Warning, next scenes contain mentions of torture)

When he came to himself, Jaskier recognized the uncomfortable chair without having to open his eyes. A familiar metallic taste was filling up his mouth until he was forced to part his lips and let the blood spill on his clothes.

Fuck.

His legs and feet were tightly strapped to the chair and despite many attempts, Jaskier could not break free. He was dreaming, the bard was sure he was dreaming, because his mind was clear, his senses sharp, and his body intact. He wasn't feeling pain, just unbearable fear that paralyzed his already restricted body.

He was trapped. Trapped in his own mind, in his own realm of dreams, in his own body by his own incompetence to just wake up.

The bard wanted to scream but his mouth was too numb to let out any sound.

"I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting this." The calm voice soaked with pretentious admiration penetrated deep into Jaskier's bones.

"Uhmm-mmh..." the bard whimpered in pain, only hearing the mage's voice was causing him great suffering.

"You're so tight-lipped about your old friend the witcher," the mage walked around the place, his steady steps making a banging sound with every move he made. Each thump echoed in Jaskier's skull, digging deeper and deeper. His mind wasn't clear anymore, it was becoming hazy, his vision blurry, his breathing shaky. Chills ran down the bard's spine as his body became painfully aware of what was to come next.

Wake up, Jaskier, for fuck's sake, WAKE UP!

Panic rose within him as the mage sat down right in front of the bard.

"Shall we try a different technique?" It was a rhetorical question as the fire fucker already intended to do just that. Jaskier winced and tried to back away with all his might, his instincts screaming at him to do something!

But there was nothing the bard could do. Jaskier's nightmares ended only with the arrival of Yennifer, but sometimes it took her so fucking long to come and save him. The bard had a feeling that due to his previous exhaustion, this little torture session will be much more prolonged than it was in reality.

"I have not seen Geralt in months, not since he had abandoned me Cairngorn, I haven't heard from him since I swear." He pleaded but with no use.

"It's such a shame you can't be useful," the mage extended his hand towards Jaskier, an unhappy frown spreading through his face. The bard tried to pull his hand back, to avoid any contact with the mage but the fire fucker grabbed him with little effort.

One snap of fingers, that's how easily a small flame appeared in front of Jaskier.

"Please, I really don't know anything! Listen to me!" Desperation flooded the bard's mind, he was tossing around like a mad man, but only as much as the straps allowed him to. "I don't know! He doesn't share details and he does not have friends!" Jaskier was fully yelling in hopes the mage would hear him out. But he didn't. The flame kissed the bard's right palm, making Jaskier scream in agony.

He felt so weak, so small, so vulnerable, so hopeless... so fucking hopeless and alone. When was Yennifer going to come? When was finally Jaskier's turn to be saved?

Geralt...