Chapter Text
He claws at his throat when he realizes.
At first, he’s just a bit amused (and slightly concerned).
The reason he didn’t break the silence with his witty quip could’ve been a monster.
But he really shouldn’t just assume that *everything* is a monster. He could’ve just… not.
Bodies can be strange, sometimes.
He shakes his hand a bit. Still has control over his body.
Likely not a monster.
Ah! He’s just thought of an even better line!
And… hm.
He’ll try again, then?
Nothing. Again?
Oh, no.
He starts to panic. Geralt would know what was happening. He always knew what was happening. If it was a monster, he should warn Geralt before it leaps out to attack him.
And surely he’d noticed Jaskier’s unusual silence by this point? He could do a bit of gesturing, a bit of miming…
Or… he hasn’t noticed. He’s just… tending to the camp. Not so much as a glance over at Jaskier, what with his ‘blessed silence’.
Oh no. Maybe it is a monster and maybe the monster has the power to show him his worst nightmares and he can’t scream and-
Geralt looks over at him then, a bit confused.
Geralt… can tell he’s there. Not a vision of his worst nightmares.
Geralt can tell he’s there. That he’s being silent. He only looked over when his heart sped up with panic so much he could hear it. He was nonchalant about Jaskier’s silence up until the point he wasn’t, at which point he was confused.
Could it be… Geralt’s doing?
He is always complaining about the lack of “blessed silence”, but…
He wouldn’t! He couldn’t have…
He… couldn’t have… Right?
He taps Geralt’s shoulder, points to himself, makes a zipping motion over his mouth, points to Geralt, and cocks his head. ‘I can’t talk. Was it you?’
And Geralt… nods.
It.. was.
He would.
How DARE he.
Before Jaskier realizes what he’s doing (and to whom he’s doing it), he’s pinned Geralt to the ground with his dagger to Geralt’s neck.
He brings his knee down on Geralt’s balls as hard as he can.
Payback for whatever the hell he did.
He punches him in the stomach with all the force he can muster. See how he likes it when it’s done to him.
He slaps him across the face. He nearly growls out the words “How long?” before he realizes, with a start, that he can’t.
He takes a deep breath and slowly brings his dagger away from Geralt’s neck.
He arranges his pointer fingers into a the hands of a clock, mimes it ticking, and cocks his head. ‘How long?’
Geralt, seemingly shocked by Jaskier’s newfound strength to knock over a witcher, says that the recipe stated it would last for 24 hours, and it had been about ten minutes since Jaskier ate the food he’d put the potion in.
Jaskier mimed drinking something else, and makes an excited face as he moves his mouth a lot. An antidote.
Geralt, still a bit dazed, shakes his head. He just…. has to not speak or sing for 24 hours.
Fuck.
He turns his face away from Geralt, willing away the unshed tears in his eyes.
He realizes he’s sitting on Geralt’s chest. At least it’s not the most embarrassing thing he’s done today now.
He sits up, brushes himself off, and walks to his bedroll, facing away from Geralt.
Damn Geralt. Damn himself and his inability to keep his tears from flowing.
Damn Geralt’s witcher senses for how he, no doubt, can hear Jaskier sobbing.
“Jaskier?”
Damn how kind he is, despite all this.