Title from “Maybe Sprout Wings” by The Mountain Goats, which is definitely the vibe for this story.
tw: nightmare
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“No!” Jaskier’s shrill cries echoed down the long stone hallway and into Geralt’s room, waking the Witcher instantly from his deep sleep. He jumped into action when he heard the sheer terror in his consort’s ragged, sleep-addled voice. “Stop, please! That will hurt him! Enough!”
The Beast raced through the winding halls of the keep, turning sharply around the few corners that separated his suite from Jaskier’s own set of chambers. He didn’t pause to knock this time, bursting straight into his consort’s bedroom and racing to examine him. “Little bird?!”
Jaskier lay on the bed, his legs and arms tangled tightly in the sheets, restraining his movements to little shuffles and squirms. His night shirt had gotten rucked up around his ribcage and what skin had been exposed was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His chestnut hair was plastered to his forehead and his face had contorted with an expression of abject horror. “No! Not him, it wasn’t him. My Geralt, stop! Stop, please! No!”
The Beast sat at the edge of his consort’s four-poster and braced his hands against Jaskier’s shoulders, shaking him gently in an effort to rouse him. “Jask, my love. Darling, please wake up.”
The young man’s startlingly blue eyes burst open but remained unseeing; the sheets tightened around him as he tried to sit up and pulled him forcibly back down. The more restrained he felt, the more he struggled. Geralt began to try and unwind his legs, listening as his wriggling consort called out in terror, “Don’t! Enough! Don’t hurt…” his limbs moved slower and his eyelids fluttered. “Don’t hurt Geralt.”
The Beast inhaled sharply and finished unwinding the silk sheets from around Jaskier’s limbs and torso. He pulled his consort’s nightshirt back into place and laid him atop the (still dry) duvet, crossing his hands over his stomach like the princesses he’d seen drawn in books of fairytales. He pressed a tender kiss to the younger man’s forehead and ran the backs of his knuckles across Jaskier’s cheek. “My love. My consort. My heart, wake up. Wake up and see that everything will be alright.”
Jaskier muttered nonsense words and his brow remained furrowed. He sighed and whined and tilted his head back, baring his neck. Geralt truly panicked when he heard the boy whisper urgently, “No, not my Beast. Take me instead.”
He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to Jaskier’s slightly parted lips. This time when those blue eyes flew open, they did so with panicked determination, scanning the room until they landed on Geralt’s hunched form.
“Thank the gods, my love!”
The younger man launched his torso off the mattress and clung to Geralt with all his weary strength. The Beast gathered his little bird into the comforting cage of his arms and situated the smaller man in his lap. He scooted up the mattress, laying them back against the headboard and pillowing Jaskier’s head against his chest. The peasant’s nimble fingers threaded their way through the ties of Geralt’s night-shirt and held on for dear life. “Don’t leave me tonight, Geralt. I don’t think I could bear losing sight of you.”
“Was it bad?”
“Terrible. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Because they were hurting me?”
“Yes. They were hurting you and they were threatening to take you away.”
Geralt marveled at the shudder that ran through his little bird with that admission. He’d never felt so utterly wanted in all his life. The smaller man’s face burrowed into his Beast’s neck and snuffled there for a moment, gathering up the safety of his tangy leather-and-metal scent. The Beast held his fragile consort tightly and began to purr, settling Jaskier’s bones more firmly against his skin as the rumbling went on.
“Thank you, my love,” the boy murmured into his skin. “I never want to lose you, either.”
“May I lay next to you tonight and keep the nightmares away?”
“That would be lovely.”
Jaskier allowed himself to be carried in Geralt’s arms from his rooms to the Beast’s. He gave no resistance as his darling Witcher tucked him against his warm, scarred side beneath the heavy covers. He tangled his legs with Geralt’s and rested his head atop his Beast’s left pectoral.
He fell asleep with Geralt’s soft purring and steady heartbeat reverberating in his ears.
The Beast fell asleep a little later, after he’d finished reassuring himself of Jaskier’s safety and comfort. Only when the peasant lad was truly sleeping sweetly, his chamomile-honey scent drifting up into Geralt’s twitching Witcher nose, did Geralt allow himself to close his eyes and drift away. His consort stayed safe and happy in his arms all night, tucked against his Witcher’s side, the Beast’s warm breath blowing gently and rhythmically against the top of his head.
