Work Text:
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I wish I could help you, but I can't tell where the witcher is right now. As you might have noticed, I can't even tell where I am right now."
The only response was another punch to the gut. Humor was apparently not appreciated.
It was hardly the first time Jaskier had gotten into trouble since he started following Geralt. (And truth be told, it wasn't like he hadn't gotten into plenty of trouble before that too.) However, it was the first time there had been serious problems since he lost his sight. Geralt, the dear heart, had been more worried than usual since that incident. As always, it took the form of deeper brooding and even fewer words than normal, but Jaskier could see it (so to speak) for what it was. Concern for Jaskier's safety, and a desperate wish to keep him away from harm without turning into a mother hen at the same time.
And Jaskier had followed instructions more closely than before. Both to try and calm the witcher's worries, and because it was much harder to sneak after said witcher when he could no longer see anything. All in all, Jaskier had been a very good boy the last couple of months. Actually, he had been a good boy this time too. It really wasn't his fault that he found himself in trouble once again.
Geralt had taken Roach to go kill some monster or other (Jaskier hadn't been paying attention to the details) and left Jaskier at their camp. It should have been fine. It had been fine. Jaskier knew where everything was, he had food, they weren't close to either human dwellings nor monster lairs, and Geralt was only going to be gone for a few hours at the most. It was fine.
Until it wasn't.
So now, Jaskier found himself… someplace, dealing with… someones. It was rather infuriating not being able to see where they had taken him and look for a way out, or to memorize faces for when Geralt would want to know who to kill. All Jaskier knew was that they were in a cellar or dungeon, or possibly a cave, and that there were at least three people holding him captive. Oh, and they wanted to know where Geralt was, even though Jaskier couldn't even remember what he was supposed to be hunting right now, nevermind where . They also seemed rather impatient, and clearly had no sense of humor.
"Well, you see, gentlemen… Heh. See? That's a joke. Maybe you've heard of it bef-" He was rudely cut off by a slap that made his head spin a little.
That was another thing. Though he knew that they would hurt him, it was quite different being punched when he couldn't see when the next hit or kick or slap was coming. Before, he had been able to see from which direction the punch would come, if the man delivering it was strong or looked a bit weaker. Now though, Jaskier didn't know anything beforehand, and had no way of blocking or even turning his face away. It was… very much not ideal.
"You talk too much," one of the men said, his voice gravelly as if he had been chewing rocks.
"I talk too much? Wow. That's really original. I'll have to try and remember that one."
"Are you going to tell us where the witcher is?"
"No, I don't think I will. Not that I know where he is, but even if I did-"
Another slap. This time he could taste blood.
"Fucking gods! Just shut him up already!" Clearly gravel-mouth wasn't the only one who didn't appreciate Jaskier's beautiful voice.
Speaking of gravel-mouth, the man made a rather unsettling noise, which Jaskier was pretty sure was supposed to be a chuckle. "I have a better idea. The boy seems a bit too happy hearing himself talk."
Jaskier frowned. So they were going to gag him? Wasn't that exactly what the less gravelly man already suggested?
Before he could open his mouth to ask, a rough hand grabbed his jaw, making Jaskier unable to move his head.
"What are you..?"
"You'll see," was gravel-mouth's only answer.
Jaskier huffed. "At least try to make a joke out of it if you are…" He quickly trailed off as something was shoved into his right ear. "N- no."
"Not so brave now, are we?" gravel-mouth said, clearly happy with the way Jaskier's voice cracked.
But Jaskier didn't care about the insult. His only care in that moment was that he could no longer hear anything from his right ear. And his head was already being turned the other way.
"No! No no! Get your hands off me, you fucking…! Stop!" He had thought he had struggled as they took him from the camp, but now he fought even harder, panic muting the pain in his bound wrists as the ropes dug into his skin.
But it didn't help. Of course it didn't. And whatever wadding they had was forced into his other ear too, deep enough that it almost hurt.
The only thing he could hear was his own voice, as his threats turned to desperate pleas.
Still, there was no use. And soon even his own voice, muffled as it was inside his own head, was silenced, as they forced a gag into his mouth.
After that, there was only silence.
Jaskier wasn't sure how much time had passed. There was no way to tell. He remembered passing out, as the gag and the fear made his breathing catch in his throat. But how long ago that was… He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. Not if they had moved him. Not if he was alone. Not anything! Geralt could be cutting the men down two meters away, and Jaskier would have no way of knowing.
The same went for his captors building a gallows, or preparing some way to torture him. Or maybe they had caught Geralt too, and Jaskier didn't even know about it. Was Geralt dead already?
He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the ever darkening thoughts. But thoughts was all Jaskier had now.
It was hell.
Before the incident, Jaskier had heard about how blind people had their other senses enhanced. Afterwards, he had found that that wasn't exactly true. At least not for him. His other senses hadn't gotten better. His hearing didn't suddenly rival Geralt's. No, they were the same as before. It was just Jaskier himself who had learned how to use them better.
His hearing had always been good when it came to music, but it was another thing to detect how many people were in a room, or if the coins he was passed were gold or silver, or how far away someone was. That last one had surprised him. In the beginning, he had been constantly bumping into Geralt, as the witcher was a step or two closer than Jaskier's ears were telling him. At least it had given him something to blame. After all, it wasn't his fault if he perhaps fell into the witcher's lap a couple of times, even after getting better at gauging distances.
And now, he could neither see nor hear. Bound like he was, he couldn't even feel around the space he was in. He only knew that it was cold and damp and with a hard floor. For a while, Jaskier tried to pretend that he was somewhere else. That he was just laying in his bedroll at their camp, waiting for Geralt to return. But he wouldn't be this cold and in this much pain if he was. It was just as likely that he was laying at the edge of a cliff.
Horrified, Jaskier felt that thought take hold. His inability to make sure he wasn't lying on a cliff making his mind start to wonder if it might actually be true. For a little while, he didn't dare move at all for fear of falling over the edge, and his breathing once again turned panicked, only worsened by the gag.
He couldn't breathe! And if he moved he would fall and die! Die, like Geralt already had done!
It was almost a relief when he once again lost consciousness.
Whoever had captured him, only removed the gag to let him eat. Jaskier had no idea how often it happened, time still had no meaning, but even though the bread was hard and the water not exactly tasty, he was thankful to not be starving. It was bad enough to be trapped in that dark silent place. Being fed at least told him that he had yet to be abandoned. And that he wasn't dead.
So when he was forced up onto his knees and the gag was removed, Jaskier didn't hesitate to open his mouth. It took him a moment to realise what, instead of bread, was being thrust into his mouth.
The tip of a thick cock hit the back of his throat, making him gag and try to pull away, only to feel a hand grip his hair. He was about to bite down on the cock, anything to have it removed, but the pain of a knifepoint pressed against his neck made him freeze. It was a clear warning.
Trying to hold back tears, Jaskier could only let the man use him. He tried to think about Geralt, tried to pretend this was something he wanted, but it was impossible. The man didn't taste the same, didn't smell the same, and Geralt would never force Jaskier like this. If Jaskier started crying, Geralt would be horrified and feel guilty for days.
After an eternity, the man finally came. Coughing, Jaskier tried to spit out the man's load and rid himself of the taste, but before he could, the gag was tied around his head again, leaving him no other option than to swallow.
For a while, Jaskier remained on his knees, afraid of moving. In the end though, he decided that he must be alone again and he once more curled up on the edge of that cliff, shaking from both cold and other things, as he waited for the silence to crush his lungs again.
It was the first time, but it wouldn't be the last.
It was impossible to say what was worse. The suffocating silence, where he was completely alone. Or when he wasn't alone, and only got hurt and humiliated. (He knew it was rape, but he didn't dare to even think the word, afraid it would break him completely.) It was two different kinds of torture, and he got no respite. He started to think that he must have died, that this was hell. What other explanation was there?
His mind seemed to get lost more and more often, and it scared him enough that he almost welcomed it when the pain of their fists hitting him forced him back into his own body again. Other times, he cried more over his own consciousness than over the pain. If he could just disappear, maybe the silence would disappear too. And maybe he could see Geralt again. It must have been years, decades, since the witcher left for his hunt.
________
Geralt swore under his breath while he made his way towards the abandoned house.
The last few days had been… not good. First, the hunt had been much more difficult than anticipated. He had been gone from their camp much longer than he had planned, or wanted, only returning almost a day later.
And at the camp, he had found a hungry and agitated Roach and the signs of a struggle. But no Jaskier.
He had searched of course, but whoever had taken the bard had had a head start, and rain had washed away most of the scent trail. It was with panic barely held back that he had started searching, making bigger and bigger circles out from the camp.
And then, he had gotten a note. Someone very brave or utterly stupid had returned to their camp to leave a message, telling Geralt that they expected a ransom if he wanted Jaskier back. It had calmed him a little, and angered him a lot. Why the fuck did people think that witchers made a lot of money? How could they in one breath refuse to pay what they had promised, and in the next believe that Geralt had every saddle bag full of gold?
So Geralt had gone to the designated meeting place. Not with gold, but with steel.
The cowards had not exactly been amazing fighters, at least not compared to an angry witcher who was prepared to turn the whole continent upside down to find his bard. And it hadn't been difficult to make them give directions to where Jaskier had been taken. If they had seemed like cleverer men, Geralt might have regretted killing them. There was the possibility that they had lied to him, and that he wouldn't find Jaskier where they had said. But he had been furious enough to not consider the idea before it was too late, and he was pretty sure that the bastards hadn't thought out more than the most basic plan.
However, the described route took Geralt in almost the complete opposite direction, and he cursed the fact that Jaskier wasn't closer.
And he kept cursing until he reached the abandoned house the kidnappers had told him about. By then, it was four days since he had left for the hunt. Four days Jaskier might have been starved or tortured. Or dead.
The house held only dust and moldy furniture. No bard. And no sign that his bard, or anyone else, had been there recently.
With a growing fear that he might have underestimated the kidnappers after all, he tried calling for Jaskier, but got no reply.
But searching around the house he found a cellar, dug into the side of a hill. The door was barricaded from the outside.
"Jaskier!"
There was still no answer, but as Geralt opened the heavy wooden door, he could detect the scent of his bard. Squinting slightly in the darkness of the cellar, he could make out the shape of someone, curled up in one corner.
"Jaskier?"
It scared him that the bard didn't reply, but he could hear the sound of the younger man's breathing. He was alive, even if not conscious. Falling to his knees beside the bard, he could see how beaten up he was. He was also a little too pale, shivering in the cold room, and Geralt frowned as the smell of not just blood and fear hit his nose.
Not wanting to think about what had been done to his bard, he gently stroked his cheek in the hopes of waking him. Jaskier made a small choked noise and curled up tighter.
"Easy. It's me. You're alright." At least he hoped so. Carefully, he tilted Jaskier's face upwards so he could remove the gag.
"...o no, p- please." Jaskier's voice sounded rough, his throat dry. "No more, please, no more, I- I… please…"
"Jaskier, calm down. It's only me."
But his words didn't seem to have any effect. Jaskier kept pleading for Geralt to not hurt him anymore, to not touch him, and Geralt felt his heart crack at the sight of Jaskier, still bound, trying to get away from him.
He hadn't expected such a reaction, but maybe he should have. Geralt had left the bard, alone and vulnerable. He hadn't been there to protect Jaskier, and it had taken him days to find him. Of course Jaskier didn't want anything to do with Geralt anymore.
It still hurt though.
"I'm sorry. Let me… hm… let me help you to the next town, and I will leave you alone after that."
Jaskier just cried, barely seeming to listen. "Please, not a- again, please don't…"
Geralt didn't know what to say. He had really fucked up. But even if Jaskier didn't want his help even to the nearest town, Geralt couldn't leave him there in the cellar. So he gently lifted the younger man, trying to block out both the pleas and the weak struggling.
Placing Jaskier down in the soft grass a little away from the horrid cellar, Geralt started cutting the ropes which bound Jaskier. Not yet free, the bard was continuing to beg Geralt to let him go, and something he said suddenly caught Geralt off guard.
"H- he'll kill you w- when he gets here. He'll kill you f- for what you've done to m- me."
Frowning, Geralt stopped to look at Jaskier. "What are you talking about? Who is..?"
Struck by a thought, his words trailed off. Jaskier didn't seem to care, or notice. And that was the thing, wasn't it? The way Jaskier hadn't reacted at all until he was touched. The way he didn't answer anything Geralt said. The way he seemed to be threatening Geralt with Geralt .
The sun was low on the horizon, but there was plenty of light left for Geralt to see clearly. To see, when he turned Jaskier's head to the side, the wadding which had been forced into the bard's ear. Geralt almost shuddered at the thought of being trapped like that, unable to see or hear or speak or move. No wonder Jaskier was so panicked.
Keeping the bard's head still, it only took him a moment to remove the wadding from both ears. Jaskier seemed to freeze, his blue eyes starring unseeing slightly to the right of Geralt.
"Jaskier? Can you hear me now?"
"G- Geralt?" It was more a sob than a word, and Jaskier's tears showed no signs of slowing down. "Y- you're here?"
"I'm here," Geralt nodded, gently brushing the hair from Jaskier's face. "I'm sorry it took so long."
Jaskier didn't answer. Instead, he just fell forward against Geralt, as if he just needed to be close to him. Geralt let him cry, his head against Geralt's shoulder, as he cut the last of the ropes. Finally free, Jaskier grabbed a hold of Geralt's shirt, sobbing even harder, and Geralt, a bit worried he'd hurt the bard further, hesitantly put his arms around the shaking body.
They sat like that for a while, as the sun set and Jaskier's crying slowly faded away.
"Are you alright?" Geralt finally asked.
"I… I think so. Maybe? Pretty sure nothing is broken at least."
"That's good." He hesitated, not sure how to ask about what he knew had also happened.
"Are they dead?" Jaskier whispered.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
"Besides the injuries… Jaskier, are you…? Hmm."
For a moment, there was only the sound of Jaskier's breathing. "No," he said, "I don't think I am alright. I… I probably will be, I hope, after a while, but… Not now. Not yet."
Geralt stroked his hair, his back. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Jaskier shook his head. "Not yet."
"I'm here when you do."
"I know." There was the slightest hint of a smile in Jaskier's voice. "Thank you."
"Can you stand?"
"I… don't think so?"
"It's alright. I've got you."
Carrying Jaskier into the abandoned house, Geralt found a less moldy couch for the bard. He had seen an old tub in another room, and with the old well not yet dry, he could soon help Jaskier into a warm bath. Sure, the tub leaked a bit, but who was going to complain about the floor getting wet.
There were a lot more bruises on Jaskier than he had hoped, but thankfully there was mostly just bruises. No broken bones, no major injuries. The worst damage seemed to have been made to Jaskier's mind, or perhaps his nerves. Geralt was used to him talking and humming and singing, but now he could barely let a second pass in silence. Not that Geralt blamed him, and he found himself trying to talk more or at least make more noise than usual. Anything to make Jaskier a bit less anxious.
Once again clean and warm and with a full stomach, the bard seemed a little more like himself. And if he was plagued by frequent nightmares for the next few weeks, Geralt made sure that he didn't have to wake up neither alone nor in silence.