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asweetprologue · 4 years

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a dark and wicked thing

Octoberfest 8: Phobia (whumptober #18)

Geralt doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

They’re hunting venomous arachas - nasty business, in Geralt’s opinion. They’re exceptionally dangerous to humans and more of a nuisance to him, their toxins rendered an annoyance by his mutations. A quick Golden Oriole before engaging with a group of them makes it easy going, and he’s already cleaved through a large number of them. But the ones they’d already encountered had been small, underdeveloped, and Geralt knows that there must be a queen nearby laying eggs. He spends the better part of an hour looking for a place where she might be hiding, and thinking about what the hell he wants to do with Jaskier, before he finds the cave entrance.

The bard is currently trailing after him, chattering away about how he’s going to find something to rhyme with chitin. Geralt turns away from the entrance to the cavern, barely a noticeable hole in the ground, and interrupts him. Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up in an offended look, but he does have the decency to shut up and listen. “We’re going to have to follow it back to its nest,” Geralt says. Jaskier adjusts the bag on his shoulder, lute exchanged for more practical medical supplies and witcher potions. Geralt had said he could come along if he did something helpful, so he’d been manning the supplies.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he says, cheerful as ever. Geralt rolls his eyes.

“You’re coming along,” he says. “Unless you want to get eaten by a stray arachas.”

Jaskier pales, probably at the idea of a giant spider making him lunch. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows heavily. “Oh. I thought you, ah, took care of those? I thought you wanted me to stay back until it was all wrapped up.”

“What, suddenly you’re not eager to follow me into the maw of certain death?” Geralt asks, shooting Jaskier a raised eyebrow. He stuck his boot down inside the small hole, testing the edge for footholds. Under the dirt the rock wall is solid, offering plenty of rough surfaces to catch himself on. He glances back up at Jaskier, who looks faintly nauseated. Strange; he wasn’t usually so adverse to delving into dangerous situations. Maybe he’s finally developing a sense of self preservation.

“Perhaps the maw,” Jaskier says nervously, “but the belly is what concerns me.”

Geralt decides not to dignify that vague statement with a response, instead dropping himself down into the hole. It’s wide enough that he doesn’t feel worried about his swords catching on the sides, but close enough that he can lean back and brace himself against the opposite wall if needed. The bottom is only fifteen or so feet down, and Geralt drops the last five into a slightly larger area. Damp, porous stone holds him in a close embrace, and Geralt spares a moment to be grateful that he’s not claustrophobic. He has to lean over to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, but he can hear echoes of dripping water and clattering stone down the way that promises a wider area ahead. A few scattered pieces of rubble bounce harmlessly off of his shoulder, and Geralt moves aside to make room as Jaskier slides the last few feet down into the cave. He’s slung the pack with its delicate potions around his front, and takes a moment to right it as he gets his bearings, eyes wide.

“Well this is cozy,” Jaskier says. His tone is jovial, but something about his scent isn’t right. He’s scared of something, Geralt realizes, confused. He knows Jaskier isn’t claustrophobic - the number of times they’ve had to squeeze themselves into tiny closets to avoid Jaskier’s irate lovers is testament to that. Being in close proximity makes Geralt’s heart rate accelerate for entirely different reasons, but Jaskier has never seemed bothered either way. Often Geralt has wished that Jaskier was more prone to fits of panic. He always seems to put full faith in Geralt, trusting the witcher to protect him. Geralt is pathetically grateful for it even as it fills him with terror.

Geralt regards Jaskier intently, tracking the way his breath hitches and his eyes skirt around the narrow space. Maybe he’s afraid of the monsters they’re hunting. If he’s smart, that’s all it is. “Come on,” Geralt says. Whatever is bothering Jaskier, he’ll either come out with it or he’ll move past it once they’re out of here and the job is done. The faster they move, the quicker that will be the case.

Geralt stalks ahead, pulling his silver sword from its sheath as he moves slowly forward into the dark. It’s awkward in the small space, but he’d rather have it in his hand than be unprepared when an arachas drops down on them. He can hear Jaskier’s footsteps after him, unsure and unsteady. Geralt frowns at the floor, trying to focus on looking for tracks instead of Jaskier’s odd behavior.

They leave the small passage, coming into a larger area scattered about with stalactites that drip with perspiration. The smell of damp stone is a cool backdrop to the cloying stench of acidic decomposition. They’re close.

Geralt doubles back to where Jaskier is standing at the exit of the tunnel, shoulders tense and fingers clutches the straps of the pack in a white knuckled grip. The sour fear-sweat-anxiety scent around him is more intense than Geralt’s ever experienced before. He reaches out and puts a hand on Jaskier’s arm, just above his elbow, and the bard jumps like a startled animal.

“Sorry,” Geralt says, and means it. “I need Cat.”

Jaskier nods jerkily. Geralt’s concern grows, but he focuses on retrieving the potion. It’s hard to tell them apart in the dim light, but Geralt knows the smell of them better than he knows his own name. He downs the Cat, the world coming into sharp focus around him in shades of black and white and greenish gray. Jaskier’s face looks even more wan in the odd lighting, his eyes wide and dilated. It puts Geralt on edge.

“They’re up ahead,” he says, giving Jaskier’s shoulder one last squeeze. “Stay here.” He turns, preparing to head in the direction of the acidic smell, but Jaskier lunges for him, gripping the edge of Geralt’s shirt clumsily. His eyes don’t meet Geralt’s searching gaze. “What?” Geralt asks, impatient.

Jaskier’s breath puffs out between them, shaky. “I can’t see,” he says, and Geralt would have expected it to sound petulant but instead Jaskier’s voice is thin and reedy. Geralt stops, letting Jaskier take his wrist in a grip that might be bruising on a human. “It’s too dark,” Jaskier says, “I can’t see anything, I don’t know where you are, Geralt -” His voice is climbing into panic, and Geralt flounders, unsure of what to do. He’d never seen Jaskier so upset, his heartbeat pounding away in fear.

“Jaskier,” he says, unable to mask the shock in his tone, “are you afraid of the dark?”

“Yes, Geralt, apparently I fucking am,” Jaskier hisses, and Geralt is glad that Jaskier can at least still sound pissed at him. “This isn’t dark, this is fucking - blackness, I can’t see shit. Don’t leave me, please, Geralt, I can’t.” He’s babbling, his breaths labored as they struggle out of his chest in shallow heaves. Geralt steps close again, raising a hand to cup Jaskier’s jaw. He isn’t sure what else to do. It seems to calm Jaskier to some degree, though his fingers still clutch around Geralt’s wrist.

“I can see,” Geralt says, “and I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t, Jaskier. But I have to kill the queen.” Jaskier’s jaw clenches. Geralt can feel it beneath his fingertips, a twitch of muscle.

Jaskier takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay. Okay, I’m fine. Go… do your thing.”

Geralt can still hear Jaskier’s heart racing in his chest. He hates it, at this moment, leaving Jaskier behind. He always hates it, but he’s never had to do it when Jaskier is gasping like a fish out of water and the smell of fear is permeating the air around him. Geralt is seized by the desperate need to do something, anything to make it better, so he reaches out and pulls Jaskier to him. The bard let’s out a short gasp before he realizes what’s happening, instantly wrapping his arms around Geralt to clutch at his back. Geralt finds himself holding the back of Jaskier’s head gently, cradling his skull.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he says into Jaskier’s hair. He feels so solid under Geralt’s hands, chest heaving as if he’s run a great distance. Geralt pulls back and cups Jaskier’s face in both hands. “I’ll be back for you.”

“I know,” Jaskier says, shaky but full of that strange, implicit trust. Geralt pulls away and turns before he can change his mind.

It takes very little time to find the arachas nest, nestled a few chambers away from the main room. The bulbous eggs have a slight glow to them that’s almost bright to Geralt’s enhanced vision, allowing him to quickly spot the hulking form of the arachas queen crouched against the back wall. He doesn’t hesitate, launching into a brutal attack. The arachas is startled and unprepared, and Geralt gives it no time to recover or retaliate. His mind is on Jaskier, alone in the other room, panicked and unable to see a potential threat.

His blade makes its way home faster than it has in a long time.

A short blast of igni has both the body and the egg sacs burning away, and Geralt nearly runs back into the entrance where he left Jaskier. For a moment he doesn’t see him, and his stomach clenches with dread.

Then he draws nearer, and he sees the huddled form against the wall. Relief sweeps through him. He tries to project his movements, stepping loudly as he approaches. “Jaskier,” he says, and the bard raises his head so quickly Geralt fears for his neck. There are tear streaks down his face, and Geralt’s heart clenches in sympathy and guilt. Crouching before him, he says, “I’m sorry. It’s done.”

Jaskier reaches out a hand, and Geralt finds himself leaning into it eagerly, reaching back. As soon as his fingers find Geralt’s chest, Jaskier lets out a relieved breath. “Can we go?” His voice is small, and Geralt hates it.

He hums in affirmation and pulls Jaskier to his feet, allowing the bard to cling to him. “We can go,” he says. “Hold onto my shoulder.”

They make their way back through the short tunnel, Jaskier gripping Geralt’s sword holster tightly. The area just below the entrance is not entirely pitched black, and Geralt can feel Jaskier calming the closer they get. Geralt scales back up the wall first, emerging in the calm afternoon of the forest. Jaskier scrambles up soon after, using a rope that Geralt tosses down to haul their bags up first. It’s too bright up above with the Cat still running through his veins - normally he would have waited below until it had run its course, but he’s glad, now, to squint at Jaskier’s face through the intense light. Jaskier, for his part, flops over onto the ground next to him, breathing hard.

Geralt drops down next to him, a frown furrowing his brow. “So no more caves,” he observes.

Jaskier glares at him with bloodshot eyes, and ah, yes, there’s the petulance Geralt had been looking for earlier. “I’m certainly not doing that again,” he says with vehemence. Geralt smiles down at him, reaching out to push Jaskier’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. Their eyes meet, Jaskier’s fatigued.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says. “I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

Jaskier sits up so quickly they almost smack foreheads. “Oh no,” he says, pointing a finger in Geralt’s face. Geralt blinks at it, bemused. “You are not using this as an excuse to leave me behind on hunts. I refuse. I’ll follow you. I’ll tie myself to Roach.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Geralt chuckles. “Even if I have to go in a cave?”

Jaskier hesitates, but then huffs defensively. “I’ll bring a torch. You’re not leaving me behind.”

Geralt smiles, affection rising in his chest. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I try,” Jaskier says, and the grin he gives Geralt is genuine and free of fear. Geralt can hear his heartbeat, steady between them. “It would be easier if you cut me some slack.”

“Don’t count on it,” Geralt says, and pulls himself to his feet. “Now come on; we’ve gotta collect venom sacks.” He offers a hand down to Jaskier.

Jaskier makes a face, but takes the offered hand anyways. Geralt pulls him up, holding him close and steady for a moment longer than necessary. The next several hours are spent on harvesting, a job that Jaskier detests but insists on helping with. And as Geralt is watching Jaskier grimace, up to his elbows in ichor, he thinks it might not be a difficult problem to fix. Light charms aren’t cheap, but he knows a few mages that owe him favors. The look of pleased surprise on Jaskier’s face will be worth the trouble. It’s for the best, he thinks. The bard truly is a danger to himself, but Geralt is stuck with him, it seems. As Jaskier looks up to triumphantly wave a venom gland at him, Geralt thinks it might not be such a bad thing.

#october2020 #geraskier #witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #whumptober2020 #no. 18 #whump #phobia #hurt/comfort #<5k #my work

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fictrashheap · 7 years

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Dancing with the Devil (Unedited)

Sometimes good by itself cannot defeat darkness. And sometimes it is necessary to fight evil with evil in order to save the world. Jack discovers this and more in his tenuous alliance with Aku.

Chapter 21

The wizard was suddenly quiet, pinned beneath Jack's soulful gaze. What was the samurai thinking? Why couldn't he discover what the samurai was thinking? He was simply a soft little mortal creature hardly worth the effort of manipulating to fulfill his own agenda, yet there was something more to it then that—an infuriating inability for him to fully comprehend his own pawn. It was maddening and intriguing and each sentiment served to bolster the other until Aku found it difficult to even look at his samurai nemesis without the pendulum continually swinging from anger to curiosity. The samurai's father had been a self-righteous little wretch, but the samurai himself was different, of a harder and more insolent ilk than his sire. Audacity, that's the word he was looking for. His nemesis possessed an outright audacity and it drove him into a fine rage each time he had to face it. No mortal had ever been so audacious in his presence.

Only the samurai dared his wrath. Only the samurai could—

The sudden slap of cold against Aku's face startled him and he jerked his head back in a mixture of indignation and bewilderment. His scarf unravelled with the abruptness of his retreat and hung limply in Jack's hand, only moved by a teasing breath of wind to fill the ensuing silence with the occasional flutter of clothing. The samurai's fingers, calloused from years of swordsmanship, lightly grazed his exposed throat and settled under the ridge of his helmet to tilt his head back into a vulnerable alignment with Jack's face. The press of lips dispelled any discomfort from the cold, now unimpeded by any protective demon aura.

Aku inhaled deeply as he pulled away, furious at himself for being caught so badly off-guard. "Gods flay your miserable hide, samurai," he breathed in a low rumble and watched with detachment as every word condensed in the chilly morning air. "Even after all that I have said you still possess the insolence to defy my prophecy?" The demon tightened his hands into wrathful fists, angry at the samurai and himself and their situation in general.

Jack didn't bat an eye when he caught Aku's wrist and with the absent ease of long familiarity he twisted the demon's arms behind his back and managed to pin his hands against his spine in one smooth, decisive motion. Aku only had the time to look surprised before the space between them vanished and any snide insults he would have made were swallowed up by astonished silence.

The wizard was completely surprised and realized it was the first time he had been in close proximity to any mortal before. From far away they appeared so clumsy and fragile with their flimsy bones and pitiful stature, but now their positions were reversed, and it was he who felt flimsy in comparison to the samurai's battle-hardened musculature, so unyielding after years of strife and hardship. For one strange moment he felt relaxed this way, utterly boneless, before the familiar anger reasserted itself.

"How dare you!"

"Why do you even pretend to be angry at this stage?" Jack asked, amused and genuinely puzzled. "It would seem redundant now, do you not think so?"

"I am angry! I am furious with you!" Aku curled one side of his lip and turned away to regard the fortress before him with stoic contempt. "Stop wasting time, samurai, those Celts hunger for demon blood and I intend to answer their insolence." He ascended up the path with squared shoulders.

Jack followed, hands hidden within the folds of his sleeves. He reached out when he matched Aku's pace and clutched the demon's shoulder. "No," he said firmly and took the lead, "your arrogance will not get us killed." The warrior passed beneath the magnificent frosted arch and was greeted by a square courtyard with a pile of stones placed in its centre. Birds sang in the emptiness, echoed oddly in the uninhabited halls of the ancient fortress. Jack shivered as he stepped gingerly onto the packed earth, still solid even after countless ages of neglect. He could sense a presence in here, something unsaid resonated within each stone used to build this place. He couldn't discern what it was, but he could feel it intimately in his being. An acknowledgement.

Dagaz and Deirdre stood idly by the ruined stones and both looked up to watch them enter the fortress. The big Celt shook his head in disgust and spat into the snow while his wife remained motionless, her tiger eyes unreadable beneath the sharp edge of her helmet. Jack could tell from the silence behind him Aku was wary. "Where are these trees?" He asked and waved his left hand towards the pile of stone. "Surely they are not within this fortress?"

Both Celts shared a significant look and it was Deirdre who answered. "The druids believed trees held special powers. There are folks who tell of a series of tunnels below this fort built before the Romans ever stepped foot here. That's where the trees are. Underground. Have a care, these are not natural trees. This is where the Forest King was slain and whatever is still down there seethes over it. The earth has a long memory, lad. It's a dark place down there." Deidre made a strange little sigh. "Dagaz and I can't follow ya any further. We've shown you the way, but the way's closed to us. We'll stay here and guard your back."

"You shoulda listened to me, li'le warrior," the hunter rumbled darkly beneath the ghastly skull, "he will attract things down there in that place." They both appeared disappointed but resigned to Jack's decision. Something the samurai was grateful for. He nodded his head to them both for their assistance and approached the square's centre but always kept himself between Aku and Dagaz.

"I thank you both for all your assistance, you have helped me immeasurably." He bowed his head in gratitude.

"Do us a favour and don't die," Deirdre muttered gruffly with forced nonchalance.

"Aye, it would make a good story over a pint," Dagaz added and swung his hammer over his shoulder. "It would be a shame if you took such a good tellin with you into the afterlife."

Jack's scowl gave way to a weary smile. "I will try." He bowed again but it was wasted upon the two Celts, who swarmed him with caution and good-natured admonitions. "Please," he pulled away from their unbridled affection, "how do I enter such a place?"

Deirdre pursed her lips, but her eyes had quickened. In her armour she appeared far more dangerous than her husband. "There's a hidden entrance about. Tis a cursed place, Jack, I won't lie to ya. It's damned and dark beneath these stones." She cast a complex glance at Dagaz. "Light a torch here and the hate of this place will eat ya alive. The Forest King was loved and whatever grows underneath isn't forgiving."

"Here," Dagaz lifted his enormous hammer and walked toward a particularly ornate arch. "Tis here you'll need to go." Jack followed his mountainous bulk and squinted into the shady reaches of the fortress. There was a battered soldier carved into the wall. Hard eyes gazed out from the lost centuries, eyes that sized Jack up. At his scornful feet rested a thick slab of marble, rosy and rare. Imported from the balmy Mediterranean basin. A solid remnant of an empire lost to the pages of history. The samurai bent down and examined it for a hidden trigger. There was none. He looked to Dagaz for an explanation, but the big Celt was looking at Aku, features tight and inscrutable. These ruins unnerved him far more then the one they had passed before.

The samurai frowned but continued to examine the small square of marble. The Roman soldier gazed down at him, stony face imperial. There was an eerie knowledge to the carving, something that not quite stone. Jack knew magic when he saw it. He turned to Dagaz and spoke, if only to distract the big Celt's alarming gaze. "There is a spell here. If this place is cursed, should such a thing be broken?"

"No, there is no need to damage it." Deirdre muttered. "Dagaz knows the words." The hunter spared his wife a complex look, but he turned to Jack and nodded.

"Aye, I remember."

Aku shot the hunter a glance, green eyes narrow. "Only demons know such things."

"And such fine help you've been!" Dagaz shot back. The wizard scowled, but hadn't the strength for idle prattle. Deirdre put a hand on his arm and the big Celt's body lost some of its tension, but his eyes burned with malevolence. He and Aku regarded each other for a long time before Dagaz faced the stone soldier and began to speak.

Dagaz had a low, guttural voice, but the words that emerged from his mouth were elusive and deeply unsettling. Jack strained to discern individual meanings, but syllables and vowels thundered past him like a polluted waterfall. He glanced over to see Aku was motionless behind him, gaze intensely green and unblinking. Jack realized he was watching something. Colours—like in their link? The samurai frowned. Despite his experience accessing the demon world was beyond him.

For a moment if felt like the stone wouldn't yield to Dagaz. Then a teeth-chattering grind shook the ground beneath their feet and the soldier shattered. Jack ducked instinctively and threw up an arm to protect his eyes. Rock pelted his exposed skin and promised to leave welts. A cloying grey dust was thrown up as the wall collapsed and shrouded them in a thick coat of dust. It was impossible to see, but Jack could hear Aku's breathing.

"I can smell her." The demon hissed into his ear.

Jack blinked rapidly and waved the dust away from his face. "What?"

Aku made an agonized groan and leaned closer. "She's been here. A long, long time ago…but she has been here."

"What?"

"Yes." The demon was trembling, expression torn between revulsion and pleasure. "She has grown very powerful…."

Jack recalled the chaotic encounter with Gaia; his own and the dizzying recollections of his nemesis. What would it be like to meet the demonic god who made you? He shuddered, but didn't have an answer. Instead he pulled Aku to his feet and waited for the dust to settle. Dagaz and Deirdre hadn't moved, but they were crouched with their back to the wall. The snow was littered with rocks and fine debris. It looked like a volcano had sent ash raining down the mountainside.

"Jack?" Deirdre's voice was faint.

"Yes. We are here." The samurai approached the Celts as they struggled to their feet. After Aku's outburst, he could feel something welling up from the deep, dark hole in front of them. The Roman wall had fallen away to reveal older foundations. A wooden hatch had covered it once, but had long since rotten away. Only a rectangular hole remained. Despite the light, it remained a featureless void. Jack squinted and stepped closer. There was no evidence of stairs. Only a presence rose from the black depths. It went beyond Aku's at the Roman ruins they had passed earlier. A deep and immortalized malevolence regarded them from the bowels of the earth. Jack swallowed and looked away.

Dagaz stood at his side. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "So?" He asked after a moment.

"How did you know those words?" Aku asked. His voice was soft and had a visible affect on Dagaz. The big Celt looked at him.

Without speaking he withdrew a golden medallion that had been hidden under the layers of clothing. It shone under the sunlight, the sapphires perched on its surface glowed as blue as Dagaz's eyes. The sight of it was like a physical blow. Jack gasped and took a step backward. The shape, the colour, the jewels, the despairing figures….

"How?" He demanded. "I saw that in my dream."

"Gaia found you." Aku spoke the samurai's thoughts. "She caught you sneaking into this place." He eyed the Celt's helmet and his eyes suddenly widened. "That skull is how she kept you here. She took your face."

"To use as her avatar," Jack added softly. Aku shot him an alarmed glance. "You told me she challenged the gods, but if she had a disguise…." His dark eyes met Dagaz's. "She could do what she wanted without divine interference."

Deirdre approached them, sword dangling against her thigh. Her bright tiger eyes were blank with astonishment. "I never asked," she muttered softly, "and you said it was an accident. You said…." Her husband glanced at her, eyes heavy with silent messages.

"It was," Dagaz suddenly spoke and threw the medallion to the ground. Its round design shone eerily amongst the snow drifts. He stood still, blue eyes glowing, and suddenly looked at Jack. "I like you. I do. I even tried to warn you…but it's done." He pointed at the medallion shining beside his feet. "It's touched the earth, now. She will come. He's made sure of it." He pointed to Aku.

An ominous shiver ran through the crumbling fortress. Aku's head jerked up as if someone had called his name. The cold air crackled with an unseen danger. Another tremor rumbled through the ruins, more violently than the last. Jack clutched his katana as a jet of light burst from the medallion to punch through the overcast. It shredded the clouds. The sky became an unearthly purple-black bowl. A new sort of cold descended as the sun withered to a grey pinprick.

Jack struggled to understand. He tore his eyes away from the column of light and gazed at Aku. The wizard's eyes reflected the sky's eerie sheen, his expression blank. There was so much power before him, but he was helpless to use it. One of Gaia's talismans had more power than he had in his entire being. Jack could see the realization. Jack could feel its weight. Despair crept over them all like the deep purple sky. It felt like time was slowing down.

Dagaz released a hoarse shout and smashed his hammer against the medallion. Instead of breaking, its energies exploded through his weapon, up his arms, and through his body. The sudden heat was blistering. Jack stumbled back, momentarily blinded, and bumped into Aku. The wizard's body was cool and unyielding against his back. The fuhai's work was nearly done. Deirdre regarded everything from the opposite side of the clearing. Her golden eyes were nearly perfect circles as her husband was consumed by demonic energy. The magic forced its way beneath his skin, made it glow and pulse like the transparent flesh of a newborn bird.

"What is happening?" Jack howled over the roar of wind and power. Aku made no reply, deaf to everything but Dagaz's transformation. His eyes were unblinking, mesmerized.

And then there was only darkness. The sky above was a charred and starless black. Jack felt it pushing down on his shoulders, sucking the strength from his limbs. An invisible tide washed across the fortress, numbing and pervasive. Jack felt he was drowning. There was no sun, no light, no warmth. The sky was a godless black bowl, emptied of life and light.

#samurai jack #aku #jaku #dwtdnoedits

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