The hand on his chest is an anchor that keeps him from panicking farther, the familiar voice helps him remember he's safe, even if he doesn't feel so quite yet. His mind has trouble understanding what Geralt is asking of him at first - after all, climbing in his lap isn't exactly part of their usual sleeping routine.

When the answer clicks, however, Jaskier doesn't hesitate. He'll be amazed at the fact he gets to cuddle Geralt in the morning, right now he needs him. Cloak wet with sweat, Jaskier drags it with him as he sits across the witcher's lap and puts his arms around that wide chest, hands holding onto black cloth as if his life depended on it.

"There were--- there were other people there with me." It comes out muffled, because he's burying his face in Geralt's chest. "Friends they used to make me talk. And then-- and then Cirilla was there too, and you, and they thanked me for the information, and there was a sword coming for me because I wasn't of use anymore..." His whole body trembles, his voice cracks. Not a single big word used in chopped sentences, that's how shaken he is. "I didn't tell them anything, Geralt, I swear..."