Chapter Text
Someone is yelling, and Jaskier isn't entirely sure it isn't him, because it feels like his side has been torn open and stuck with hot pokers. The pain is dizzying and his head hasn't been helped by his crash to the floor or the alarms that are wailing. He clamps both hands down over the hole in his side, panting as he tries to pull himself together.
The yelling, he realizes as a dark figure skids to a halt beside him, wasn't him after all. Geralt is there, handsome face crumpled in concern. Jaskier wants to be flattered but he's pretty concerned himself. Geralt's sword clatters to the floor as he adds his own hand to Jaskier's wound, with so much pressure it makes Jaskier cry out.
He blinks and then Azar is there as well, bearing down on them with his gun raised.
"He might survive if he gets to a healer quickly enough," he says, raising a hand in Geralt's direction. "Give me the diamond and tell your men to retreat. I'll let you take him out of here."
"Don't you fucking dare," Jaskier pants in reply, without even looking to see what Geralt thinks of the deal. "I'll never forgive—" He lashes out with his foot mid-sentence, cracking the mage in the knee. It's enough to give Geralt an opening and, thank all the gods, he takes it.
~
Azar is fast, uncannily so. It shouldn't take more than half a second for Geralt to disarm and disable him. He's managed to knock the gun away— it clatters off the tile toward the disturbingly intricate ritual set up— but the mage eels away from every attempt to grapple him and Geralt hasn't had a second to grab for his sword. He strikes out instead with the diamond still in his hand and catches the man down the face with one of its points.
Instead of retaliating, Azar wheels around and darts for the door he'd come in through.
"Damn it, where are you?" Geralt snaps into his comm, grabbing his sword and dropping the diamond on the floor beside Jaskier.
No response comes through the earpiece, but a door halfway down the room dents inward with a loud bang, then another. All at once Eskel and Lambert pour into the room, along with no small amount of smoke.
Geralt hesitates, glancing between Jaskier's prone figure and the door Azar Javed disappeared through.
"Get the bastard," Jaskier wheezes. "I'm fine."
"You've got a strange definition of fine," Eskel says on approach. He's already stripping out of his gambeson so that he can get off his undershirt, which he presses immediately to Jaskier's wound. "Go on, Wolf. We've got this covered."
"Do we?" Lambert sounds uncharacteristically uncertain as he circles the ritual set up. "He's done something. I think this thing is starting up."
"Then figure out how to stop it." Geralt runs for the door.
~
There is a half naked man in front of Jaskier and he isn't in any position to flirt, which may be even more of a tragedy than the bleeding wound in his gut.
"Some bedside manner," he manages to complain breathlessly as Eskel presses his previously white and now stained red undershirt to the wound.
"Hold that down, tight as you can." Eskel looks up and whatever he sees has his lips twisting in a frown. "Lambert, we've got company!"
The ground is shaking and Jaskier doesn't think it's a bomb this time.
"Deal with it," Lambert yells back. "You want me to figure this thing out or not?"
"Deal with it," Eskel repeats under his breath in annoyance. He scoops Jaskier up in his arms and jogs back toward the magical contraptions the other witcher is inspecting. "So helpful."
"The diamond," Jaskier realizes belatedly, reaching out as he's set down on the floor again, propped against a computer console that provides a bit of cover. Eskel swears under his breath and runs back to fetch it, grabbing Jaskier's jacket as well on his way.
"You look after that," he says, dropping both items by Jaskier's side. "And keep pressure on that wound, damn it."
"Yessir." He closes his eyes and clamps down.
~
The door leads to a staircase, which leads to a darkened hallway, much like the one that he and Jaskier had traversed earlier. As he jogs on, Geralt thumbs the cap off a Cat potion and downs it, before lingering over the idea of something else as well. Azar Javed was fast. Supernaturally fast. He must have made himself a rune of some kind to increase his speed, and possibly his strength.
Geralt has no intention of being caught off guard again. He downs a Blizzard and then casts out his senses. In the end it isn't a sound, but the scent of blood that he follows, sure as anything.
He's so intent on tracing the smell, on catching up to the man, that he bursts through the next door without any caution and nearly pays for it with his life. A knife swings out at him, aimed for his throat. He raises his arm, hissing as the blade slices across his chest. It digs into his wrist, through his leather, and jars the bone in the heel of his hand with such force that he drops his sword, swearing.
It's a thin cut, but it stings like a bitch and is enough to give the mage time to escape, the slap of his shoes muffled against the carpeted floor.
~
"I need fewer open doors," Eskel shouts sometime later, jolting Jaskier from an unintentional and likely unwise doze. "Or more help ."
He's surrounded, rather unsettlingly, by corpses. Eskel is a quick and efficient killer, moving as elegantly as Geralt had to dispatch construct after construct, as all of Azar's private army seems to be converging on them.
Lambert shoots him the bird and throws a bundle of (thankfully unlit) bombs in his direction. The lighter follows shortly after, bouncing across the tile, tossed haphazardly as Lambert continues to circle the ritual set up.
"We've got five minutes, maybe," he says, growling in frustration. "Before this thing tears open a rift in Ard Carraigh."
Jaskier stares at the lighter, watching the way the silver metal interacts with the facets of the diamond on the floor beside him. Facets. He tries to grab onto the thought, but instead registers what Eskel has said.
"Screwdrivers in the control panel," he manages, with no small amount of effort. "Pull them out. Door will close."
Eskel gives him a nod of acknowledgment, then darts to the indicated door in the next gap between enemies.
Jaskier reaches for the diamond. He waves weakly in Lambert's direction with it. "Why?" he asks, his question interrupted by a weak cough that sends throes of agony through his torso. "He made—" He gestures to the corpses nearby, with their round, red jewels. Luckily, Lambert takes his meaning.
"Chaos makes perfect circles. You need something with facets for a— fuck that's it, isn't it, the diamond is the focusing lens. Without it, this whole damn setup will tear open a rift here ."
"Can't believe I'm the one suggesting it, but why don't we just blow it up?" Eskel asks as he returns. One set of doors has slid solidly closed, and he tosses a lit bomb through the one he and Lambert had destroyed on entry.
Lambert waits for the boom before answering. "Because we don't know how much chaos he's got stored in all these pieces. Could fuck us up, and half the country."
Jaskier's head falls back against the console he's propped against. "I vote not that."
~
This room doesn't seem to have another exit. Geralt pulls the door closed behind him and crushes the knob in his hand, wrenching the metal so that it will be a pain to open again. There are pallets here, rows and rows of what seem to be emergency supplies. Food. Water. Bedding. He shifts his sword carefully to his uninjured side.
"What is all this," he calls. Somewhere between these rows he can hear Azar Javed panting for breath. "What's your game, here?"
"The elite will need somewhere to stay when I bring their cities to their knees," the mage replies, voice pitched to carry. "I hadn't intended to begin tonight, but Ard Carraigh will make a fine example."
Geralt concentrates, moving slowly and silently down the nearest aisle. Azar is desperate, even if he wants to brag.
"We have the diamond. It won't work."
"If that's the case, I just need to get outside. I'd hate to be here when the rift opens."
Which means the portal will open here without the diamond. Geralt whips around the corner, sword raised, but no one is there. He leans back against a pallet of boxes, head spinning. He's losing too much blood. They have to end this.
"I got you good, didn't I?" the mage croons. "That's a lot of blood on the floor, mutant. Why don't you give up and let me finish the job?"
A quiet footstep. Geralt holds his breath.
"I don't think so."
He turns back the way he came, sword moving before he's even locked eyes on his target. Azar Javed's head rolls.
"Fuck," Geralt says beneath his breath, sheathing his sword again and holding his injured arm against his chest. He allows himself a moment, sucking in air against the pain, before loping back toward the door and the others.
~
There's a boom from somewhere else in the compound, and the shock of it has Jaskier sitting up in a panic. His hands are slick with his own blood, and Eskel gives him a pitying look.
"That one's Geralt. He's always got a back-up Dancing Star, just in case."
It's not a sentence that makes the most sense to Jaskier's pain-fogged mind, but neither of the witchers look horribly worried. At least not about that.
"No diamond, rift here," Lambert mutters, pacing nearby. "Diamond, rift in Ard Carraigh. Can't blow it up—"
"The anti-magic field has to exclude the ritual circle, right?" Eskel asks. His sword is hanging by his side now. There haven't been any unfriendlies in nearly a minute.
"We might be able to get in there to cast Quen, but I don't know what part we should shield," Lambert says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Or if we'd even be strong enough. Maybe with all three of us we could trap the chaos, but with just two…"
"Come on, Geralt," Eskel murmurs, tapping at his earpiece. "We need you. Bring us the mage."
Whatever response he gets has him growling in frustration. "Okay. Mage is dead. Geralt's on his way back. How much time do we have?"
"Tell him to fucking hurry."
Panic rising in his chest— if this wound doesn't kill him, shortly a bunch of terrifying monsters will— Jaskier grabs at the diamond again. It has to have the answer. It's so important.
"If—" He breaks off with a groan. It feels like a miracle he's stayed conscious this long. "How does it fit? The diamond?"
Eskel drops to his knees beside him. "Damn it, I told you to keep pressure on this."
"There," Lambert says, pointing to the center of the ritual circle. "That metal cradle."
"Point up or—ah!" Eskel presses down, hard, and Jaskier wishes he had more energy to give him a withering look. But it's all pain and panic now. "Up or down?"
"Up," Lambert says, still pacing.
"Put it point down." Jaskier tries to toss him the diamond, but it's a weak throw and the gem clatters to the floor between them. "Upside down."
"Upside—" Lambert freezes, looking at the both of them. "That— huh. That might…"
"Would that work?" Eskel demands. "The chaos goes in, doesn't have a way out again, it might—"
"It might , but it might blow us up." He stoops, grabbing for the diamond. "Then again, we might blow up anyway, this close to a rift." He crosses the lines of the ritual circle carefully and jams the gem into the metal cradle, point down. It doesn't fit, but he forces it and together they watch as the energy begins to build.
~
Geralt stumbles over the threshold, moving as quickly as he can. The lights in the room nearly send him to his knees, too bright in the face of the dark vision potion. As it is he falls against the doorframe, flinching as someone calls his name.
"Damn it, Wolf." Eskel pulls Geralt's arm over his shoulder. "Lamb— need your shirt."
"The rift," Geralt says between gritted teeth. His eyes are clenched closed as tight as they'll go. "It'll open here, we have to—" He breaks off with a groan of pain as Eskel pulls the makeshift bandage tight around his arm and presses it to his chest as well.
"What did he do?" Eskel demands. He pats at Geralt's cheek, beseeching him to open his eyes before realizing. "Fuck, you're nearly toxic. Swallow might kill you. We got any White Honey?"
"I didn't pack any." Lambert is at his elbow. "I didn't think any of us would be fucking stupid enough to overdose—"
"The rift," Geralt repeats. It doesn't matter if he's toxic, not if they're about to be overrun by enemies. "Jaskier, is he—"
"It's sorted, but we need to get you two out of here." Eskel hauls him forward. "Lambert, grab the thief, come on. We need a medical evac and we're not getting one with this damn anti-magic field."
"Yen."
"The pendant won't work down here, we have to—"
"Call her," Geralt grits out as they move laboriously toward the door. His legs feel like they're made of cement, dragging him down. "Your cell."
He hears Eskel huff, exasperated with himself for forgetting the technology available to them.
"Is he—?" Jaskier's voice is weak, but nearby.
"He's gonna be fine," Lambert says gruffly. "He's just an idiot. You, I'm not as sure about. Stay the fuck awake, would you?"
"I am." Jaskier sounds nearly petulant. "I— Geralt?"
Geralt's feet go out from under him and his head swims. The last thing he registers before he loses consciousness is his brothers swearing on either side of him.
~
It's the smell that wakes him. Hospitals, even ones that cater to magic injuries, have a certain smell about them, like antiseptic and charred celandine. Geralt is more familiar with it than he would prefer.
"Fuck," he groans, blinking at the ceiling. He reaches up to rub at his face, only to realize his right arm burns in pain. There's a white bandage wrapped around it, from his elbow all the way over the palm of his hand. He spots Eskel, sitting in a visitor's chair beside the bed.
"How bad?" he asks. His brother looks tired, but no worse than that.
"You've been out for a day and a half." Eskel hauls himself to his feet and pours a cup of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. Geralt grabs for it thoughtlessly and smothers a yelp as his arm twangs painfully. Eskel looks unsympathetic, but holds the cup steady until Geralt gets hold of it.
He drains half the cup before passing it back.
"Jaskier?"
"He's next door, still out. Healers said he probably won't come round til tomorrow morning, but he should recover. Yen's kept the hounds off for now."
"Where's—"
"You wanna play twenty questions, Wolf, or should I just lay it all out for you?" Eskel returns to his seat, kicking his feet up on the edge of the bed. "Lambert's pissed as fuck. We got hotel rooms nearby to wait for you to wake up, and he got kicked out by management for trying to brew in the bathroom."
"White Honey?" Geralt guesses, letting his head hit the pillow again.
"White Honey. He's probably gonna sock you one when he sees you. I sent him back to Kaedwen. Figured you and the thief can't get up to more than I can handle in this state." He laces his fingers over his belly, watching as Geralt jabs the button on the hospital bed to sit himself a little more upright.
"Is Yen here?"
"No. She's back at the compound, dealing with the super-charged diamond."
Geralt squints at him.
"You might've noticed we're not teeming with interplanar monstrosities? Turns out it backs up the works if you put the diamond in upside down." Eskel pulls a toothpick from his pocket. "Who knew."
"We did it, then. Azar Javed is dead and we averted the ritual," Geralt says slowly. "So why are you pissed?"
"I'm not pissed."
Geralt gives him a look.
"It was too damn close, Wolf. Nearly lost you." He says it to the floor and Geralt feels a wave of guilt rush through him. It had been closer than he ever meant. After a second Eskel heaves a sigh and meets his eye. "And you're a bitch when you're injured."
The tension leaves him. Eskel stands and claps his shoulder. "I'll go find you something to eat and text the others."
"You sure you don't wanna clock me as well?" Geralt offers, a half smile playing about his lips. "Make you feel better?"
"Nah," Eskel says. "You need your strength. If it wasn't such a shit drive, Vesemir'd be here himself to tear you a new one."
"Fuck." He's in for a lecture when they get back to town. Eskel's grinning as he heads out, turning down the hall toward the cafeteria.
Geralt waits until he can't hear his brother's footsteps any longer to climb to his feet. His body still aches— no doubt the hospital hadn't any White Honey either, which means they'd stitched him up the old fashioned way while waiting for the potions to run their course. There are only a few truly magic healers, and they wouldn't have bothered with injuries that could be seen to another way.
Some kind soul has left a dressing gown on the back of the door. Geralt shrugs into it and then pads quietly into the hall and to the room next door.
Jaskier is unnaturally pale and still, looking small in the center of the hospital bed. He's surrounded by beeping machines, an IV in one wrist and sensors glued to his chest. Geralt watches him for a moment, then gives in to the impulse to poke him, just to see if he's really asleep.
He gets no response.
"Hm," he says to the empty room, grabbing the visitor's chair and dragging it up to the side of the bed. "You sure got more than you signed up for, huh? Probably shoot yourself if you could see what you're wearing right now."
The light blue hospital gown is doing him no favors, and his hair is all ruffled in an extreme version of bedhead. Geralt thinks about reaching out to flatten it. He holds himself back.
"Well, Azar Javed won't be a problem for you any more. Yen's no doubt tearing into anyone that's left. You didn't exactly get me the diamond back, in the end, but… seems a poor thank you to let Art Theft have you after all this."
He slumps a little more in his chair, watching the steady rise and fall of Jaskier's chest. The sound of his breathing is faint beneath the beeping and whirring machines.
"Thank you," he says finally. "For trusting me and for helping. For taking a godsdamned bullet to prove your point. You—"
Jaskier sighs, turning his head away. His breathing doesn't change, though; he's still deep in a well medicated sleep.
"That woulda been just like you, huh," Geralt huffs. "Wake up just when I'm being all grateful."
He tucks his chin against his chest, arms carefully folded and content to rest while keeping an eye on the other man.
~
Some time later, someone whispers against his ear. "I should have charged you more."
The faint pressure of lips against his cheek isn't enough to fully make him stir, nor is the quiet tinkle of crunching glass and the unpleasant smell that follows. Instead, he falls into a much deeper sleep, the kiss still tingling on his skin.
~
"Wolf? Geralt! Come on, Wolf—"
"Huh?" Geralt drags his eyes open to find Eskel stooped over him, looking wild and frantic. "Fuck off, I'm just sleeping."
"I've been shaking you for the past minute and a half," Eskel replies, sitting back on his heels. There's a cafeteria tray balanced precariously on the edge of the bedside table. "Jaskier's gone."
"What?" Geralt sits up abruptly, his arm throbbing as he raises it to wipe his face. He grimaces as his head spins unpleasantly. "Fuck, my head— oh, you little bastard ."
"What happened?"
"He gassed me. Again." He looks around the room. "Someone brought his jacket in, didn't they? Put it in there?" He nods to the tiny clothes closet.
"Probably," Eskel admits. "But he was unconscious, he'd just been shot. You don't just walk away from that."
"Apparently, he did." He registers that the background beeping of the room has picked up— the sensors have been stuck to his own chest, it seems. He yanks them free with a scowl, causing the machine to start screeching. He ignores it and crosses to the closet.
It's completely empty, save for a small glass ampoule on the floor, its neck broken neatly in two.
"Godsdamn it," he growls, anger mixing with no small amount of admiration. "Unbelievable."