( Not if, but when — it took a long time for him to start thinking like that, but it's a testament to how much they've been through that he does. Learning to let people go was one of the lessons he struggled with the most. Learning that they might actually choose to come back was harder — but once that sank in, the rest became easier. Choosing people who also choose him. What a goddamn revelation.
The smile at his lips is sad, but it's a smile nevertheless. He turns his eyes back down to his rudimentary little caving, its shape angular and jagged but steadily more distinct. )
I know you won't. Hell, maybe one day you'll remember how that finally makes us even.
( Those are old memories, though. He wouldn't mind so much if they stayed buried.
Another few seconds of work, and then he holds his crappy little carving out for Geralt to take. It's a motorcycle. )
[ He'll miss what they had here. A brief period of calm. But they always knew it would be temporary. As much as he regrets what transpired, he can see it for the push he needed. He can't spend his days in the forest with just Dean, hoping time will grant him its favour.
He needs to find his way back to Ciri. ]
One day.
[ His eyebrow lifts. He turns his palm up and Dean places a lumpy carving in the middle of it. It's roughly hewn, but perfectly recognizable. For a moment, he thinks he can hear the clink of pungent liquor in glass jars, the creak of steel.
Geralt weighs the wooden bike in his hand. Then he slips it into a pocket and stands. ] Don't drink all the ale without me.
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The smile at his lips is sad, but it's a smile nevertheless. He turns his eyes back down to his rudimentary little caving, its shape angular and jagged but steadily more distinct. )
I know you won't. Hell, maybe one day you'll remember how that finally makes us even.
( Those are old memories, though. He wouldn't mind so much if they stayed buried.
Another few seconds of work, and then he holds his crappy little carving out for Geralt to take. It's a motorcycle. )
no subject
He needs to find his way back to Ciri. ]
One day.
[ His eyebrow lifts. He turns his palm up and Dean places a lumpy carving in the middle of it. It's roughly hewn, but perfectly recognizable. For a moment, he thinks he can hear the clink of pungent liquor in glass jars, the creak of steel.
Geralt weighs the wooden bike in his hand. Then he slips it into a pocket and stands. ] Don't drink all the ale without me.