It's going to stick in his mind a long time: the booth at the market, the riot, the captive and injured Monsters shrieking in fear as he and Ozymandias were forced to run. He deeply regretted not being able to help them then.
Now, having almost been in that situation himself, it makes him sick.
"G-good that they're... not there any... more..."
And that, of course, he isn't either.
In truth, the full horror of it is yet to settle. He's still addled, overwhelmed, thinking of the immediate what now? rather than the what ifs-- but they're starting to creep in.
If Berserker hadn't happened by and noticed him, if he'd gotten sold as someone's pet or potion ingredient or somehow worse, if nobody had realized he was gone soon enough, if Iskandar or anyone else from Aefenglom failed to find him even when they did notice... Hell, if Geralt hadn't shown up to help Berserker out, that would have gone south quickly too. All the awful, terrifying possibilities multiply like flies in his mind, buzzing and swarming and making his skin crawl until Waver's shuddering, struggling to breathe.
He clings to Berserker's chest, short, choking gasps catching in his throat. The tears won't come, and somehow, that's even worse. It's like he's watching someone else, far away, feeling someone else's panic through a thick glass wall. The hard stone beneath him feels miles away, not real.
Waver's claws dig into Berserker's chest, desperately trying to ground himself as the world swims and he fights to take a complete breath.
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It's going to stick in his mind a long time: the booth at the market, the riot, the captive and injured Monsters shrieking in fear as he and Ozymandias were forced to run. He deeply regretted not being able to help them then.
Now, having almost been in that situation himself, it makes him sick.
"G-good that they're... not there any... more..."
And that, of course, he isn't either.
In truth, the full horror of it is yet to settle. He's still addled, overwhelmed, thinking of the immediate what now? rather than the what ifs-- but they're starting to creep in.
If Berserker hadn't happened by and noticed him, if he'd gotten sold as someone's pet or potion ingredient or somehow worse, if nobody had realized he was gone soon enough, if Iskandar or anyone else from Aefenglom failed to find him even when they did notice... Hell, if Geralt hadn't shown up to help Berserker out, that would have gone south quickly too. All the awful, terrifying possibilities multiply like flies in his mind, buzzing and swarming and making his skin crawl until Waver's shuddering, struggling to breathe.
He clings to Berserker's chest, short, choking gasps catching in his throat. The tears won't come, and somehow, that's even worse. It's like he's watching someone else, far away, feeling someone else's panic through a thick glass wall. The hard stone beneath him feels miles away, not real.
Waver's claws dig into Berserker's chest, desperately trying to ground himself as the world swims and he fights to take a complete breath.