Kill Your Darlings (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader)

Chapter 15

Blood wasn't something you were new to. Not since the first time you scraped your knee, not since the first time you saw a dead body, and definitely not since you killed your first target. It was everywhere — and in a fight, it got everywhere. But for some reason, you couldn't wrap your mind around the fact that it was Joneta's blood all over your hands. It was her blood that seemed to be a permanent reminder of what you did.

Geralt burst through the back door of the tavern not long after Joneta's eyes went dark. Or, maybe it was a long time after. You couldn't tell, and the sky wasn't helping — darkness surrounded you for as long as you could remember. You were beginning to think the sun would never return. But even that didn't bother you. Not while your friend — who you once considered your only friend — was dead in your arms. Not while her blood was caked onto your fingertips, not while her now dried pool of blood mixed with your own.

Geralt tried to get you up. But even he didn't dare touch you when you sent him daggers through your eyes. Instead, he made sure no one ventured back to the tavern's courtyard, all while keeping his eyes off of you. Smart, because if he sent you any look that resembled pity, you might've stabbed him as well.

The tears had stopped falling almost as soon as her blood dried. You were silent, which wasn't new either, but it was...unsettling. Like you couldn't speak. Like the words that died on Joneta's tongue as she choked on her blood...they died on yours too.

So instead of crying, you watched the girl in front of you, stiff and departed, thinking maybe she would get up again. She'd blink, or gasp, or laugh at the fact that you thought you killed her. Killed her.

"You could never," she'd say, wiping the blood from her face. "The only thing that'd kill me is...me." And you'd laugh.

But she didn't wake up. She didn't move. She didn't even bleed anymore. She was a corpse. An 'it'. A was.

"Oh." You snapped your eyes up, the quickest movement you'd made for a while. Jaskier was standing at the door of the tavern, his hands wringing together, probably because there was no lute between them. Geralt stood behind him, making sure the door was closed and blocked by a heavy barrel beside it. He only nodded at you and turned away, most likely to guard the other entrance.

You looked back at Joneta's eyes, which now seemed to be judging you — testing you. But when you spoke, it was to Jaskier, "I thought I told you to keep playing."

You almost didn't notice him kneel beside you, "You're hurt." His hands shook as they reached towards your thigh, his fingertips gently ghosting over where blood had already been soaking through.

"I already tied it off."

It wasn't a lie. Somehow you managed enough energy to rip part of your cloak and tie it around your stab wound — the blood wasn't fully soaking the material, which meant you hadn't been out there too long. Otherwise, you would probably be passed out by now. Or dead.

"Not your arm. Or — oh, your stomach." You barely flinched when he held one hand to each wound — it hurt, the sudden pressure, but somehow, it made you feel better. "We need to get you inside."

"I can't," the crack in your voice made you inhale sharply, your eyes brimming with tears. "I can't leave her."

Jaskier's gaze softened, his grasp on your arm tightening so you would look at him. "She'll be here. Geralt will make sure of it."

You didn't want to believe him. Him, of all people. The person who made you kill your friend. The person who made you go against your uncle, the one person you could call family. But there was part of you...the part of you that you wanted to push away. That part of you believed him. Trusted him.