Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m dying, Geralt.” The bard wailed for what seemed like the hundredth time to Geralt. Just like the previous ninety-eight times he ignored it, which Jaskier clearly didn’t appreciate. “Are you even listening to me? Really, I’m dying and now I’m speaking my last words to a man who refuses to listen? Unbelievable, what did I do to deserve such treatment? You know what, don’t answer that. Not that you’re planning on saying anything, which by the way I would very much appreciate if you did, this hurts you know and I kind of feel like I’m talking to a brick wall right about now-”

The non-stop chattering was starting to get on the witcher’s nerves. It was both annoying and distracting. Just for a moment Geralt wondered why he even bothered with brewing a potion for his companion. The moment was gone quickly and he resumed his task, telling himself that he was doing this just to get the damned bard to shut up for once and not out of concern. Definitely not.

“Geralt? Geraaalt? Oh come on, have you gone deaf? Is that it? GERAAAL-”

“Shut the hell up.” 

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times indignantly. “Oh, of course! The moment you decide to say something, it’s only to tell me to shut up! I am dying, Geralt, do you not even care? After all this-”

“You are not dying. The wound is superficial.” Geralt grumbled, rolling his eyes at the spluttering bard. At least the potion was finally ready.

“Well it doesn’t fucking feel like it! Hurts like hell, even more than the one time I got kicked by a horse or got attacked by some cranky guy in a bottle or when someone punched me in the stomach for no reason. ” Jaskier whined, hissing in pain as he poked the wound running down his side. Geralt tried to ignore the stab of guilt he felt when he realized most of the things the bard listed had been his fault.

“Stop poking at it.” Geralt ordered curtly. Jaskier huffed but did as he was told and let his hand fall, still muttering curses under his breath. Geralt knelt next to the poet. He was leaning against a tree in the most comfortable - or more accurately the least uncomfortable - spot Geralt had been able to find in this godforsaken forest. Just to shut him up, of course.

"Got some potion for you." Geralt said. Jaskier reached for the flask but the witcher pulled it from his reach. "Not for drinking."

"Then for what? Admiring it? If that's all it's for then frankly-"

"Apply it to the wound. Should close it up quick. After it's cleaned." Geralt explained shortly. He started cleaning the wound carefully, making sure not to press too hard. He tried his best to ignore the pained hiss Jaskier made every single time the cloth made contact with his side.

"A potion? Why isn't it a salve? What's the point in making something you apply into a wound a liquid when you could make it a salve?" Jaskier rambled while he stared at the potion like it had personally offended him.

"Hmm." Geralt replied. He didn't feel like explaining alchemy right now. Preferably never.

"Right, yeah, that explains it. Thank you, master teacher. You know, as adept as I have become with interpreting your grunts and growls, I'm not quite on the level of figuring out an academic answer out of a single hmm. " Jaskier was seemingly too occupied with his rant to even notice Geralt had finished cleaning the wound and was now uncorking the flask.

"Hmm." Geralt hummed again, lip quirking upwards the tiniest bit when the bard glared at him indignantly. "This may sting." He warned, pouring the potion onto the wound before Jaskier had a chance to react. 

Jaskier screamed. Tears sprung to his eyes. Geralt felt something definitely not like concern rise in him as he grasped Jaskier's shoulder to keep him upright. The bard reached out his hand, taking a death-grip on Geralt's arm as he tried to even out his pained breathing. Geralt didn't shrug him off.

“Jaskier?” He questioned in a low tone. The man had started shaking, staring down at his side. He was growing paler and paler by each passing second. The potion was doing its job of closing the wound and well...it admittedly did not look pretty. Geralt swore under his breath.

“Jaskier.” He said again, firmer this time. Jaskier hardly even reacted, seemingly entranced by the rapidly closing wound. He was still breathing frantically. 

“ Jaskier .” The witcher snapped. No response. Geralt growled in frustration, lifting Jaskier’s chin up, essentially forcing the bard to look at him. “Jaskier. Stop looking at it.”

As if snapped out of a trance, Jaskier started blabbering. “Is it supposed to do that? Why does it look like that? What if it gets worse? What if it got infected, if it was infected and now it’s closing at that frankly weird and extremely creepy speed then it would-” Geralt could hear the bard’s heartbeat quicken with every word that fell out of his mouth.

“Jaskier.” He said, yet again. It felt like that name was half of his (quite limited) vocabulary nowadays. Jaskier seemed to have no intentions of shutting up, going on and on as if Geralt hadn’t spoken. Geralt sighed before grasping Jaskier’s shoulders and gently shaking him to get his attention. It worked. Jaskier’s wide eyes turned to stare at him, unshed tears clouding his vision. Geralt felt a pang of worry at the sight, a pang which he stubbornly ignored.

“Yes, it’s supposed to do that. No, the wound was not infected. I cleaned it, I would’ve noticed. You will be just fine. Calm. Down. ” Geralt said as reassuringly as he could. It came out more as a harsh order than a reassurance, but miraculously his words seemed to help. The bard’s heartbeat slowed slightly closer to its normal speed and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Okay. Okay, if you say so. You’re the wound expert, not me. Fine, okay, this is fine...” Jaskier muttered, temporarily going quiet as he stared at the witcher again. Like he was contemplating something. Just as Geralt was about to ask him what he was looking at, or more likely let out a questioning hm , the bard seemed to have reached a conclusion in whatever thought he’d had. Suddenly there was a pair of arms circling his shoulders and before he knew it, Geralt had a lap full of Jaskier.

He froze. " What are you doing?" Geralt hissed. The bard didn't seem fazed in the slightest by his tone.

"I need a hug and you're within my hugging range." Jaskier muttered. Geralt debated on whether or not he should push the man away, but he could feel Jaskier relax, could hear his breathing even out and heartbeat return to its usual steady thump.

So he didn't. It was awkward, it was unknown territory and Geralt really didn't know what to do. After a long moment he relaxed slightly and tentatively wrapped his arms around the bard in return. Jaskier smiled, burying his face against Geralt's shoulder.

" 'This may sting', my ass." Jaskier grumbled, still not letting go. "That hurt, you son of a bitch." He complained, pushing Geralt's shoulder to somehow emphasize his point. Geralt barely even felt it.

"I warned you." He stated. Jaskier gasped theatrically.

" Sting means  'oh this may cause an uncomfortable yet not very painful feeling' kind of pain, not 'oh let me pour this salt-fire-liquid into your gaping wound' kind of pain!" Jaskier complained, but he didn't sound genuinely upset.

"You're just overdramatic." Geralt told him, causing the bard to gasp again thus proving his point. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Me? Overdramatic? Lies. Lies and slander. I am just the right amount of dramatic, I'll have you know. And if I ever do act overdramatic, which I don't, it's because I'm making up for your lack of dramatics so consider it your own fault." Jaskier distanced himself just enough to be able to poke Geralt in the chest.

Geralt huffed. "I didn't ask you to it, so no. I'm considering it all your fault."

"Rude. Do they not teach manners at witcher school?" Jaskier paused for a moment. "Actually, that's a genuine question. Do they? I mean, I don't think that's a priority there but do they teach anything about manners or do you all just go around grunting and growling at everyone like boors?"

"Did you just call me a boor?" Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow, deflecting the question. Jaskier spluttered.

"Uh, no, no it was just a...uhh.. figure of speech. Not a literal boor but a figurative one, you know?" He rambled. Geralt kept staring at him, amused by how the bard seemed to squirm under his gaze. "Ugh, nevermind." Jaskier mumbled, hiding his face against Geralt's shoulder. Again. Geralt didn't move.

"You know, wouldn't this make a great ballad?" Jaskier broke the brief silence. The man seemed to be physically incapable of being quiet for more than a minute. “Well, I’d change some things, of course. Maybe leave out the part where I almost fainted and add a bit of a dramatic flair, but other than that…”

"No."

"Oh, come on. Heart of a Witcher, doesn’t that sound good?" The bard pressed on.

"No."

"Pfft, what do you know about making songs? That would be great material! It would please the audience, you know. People like it when the hero shows their heart occasionally. Besides, I got a wound out of this, I deserve some compensation. I’d write a song that would get us coins, enough coin for a proper inn and food and ale and a bath... If you just weren't so damn insistent that you don't have feelings or something."

"I don't." Geralt growled, shifting uncomfortably.

Jaskier lifted his head to look at the witcher, clearly unimpressed. "Oh? Then why are we here?"

"You won't leave." Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier snorted. “Don’t act like you couldn’t have just tied me to a tree and left without me if you really wanted to.” 

“Hm. Thanks for the idea.” 

"Ha ha, really funny Geralt. Good joke." Geralt didn't reply. "...Right? It was a joke, right Geralt? You wouldn't!" Jaskier exclaimed.

A small smile played on the witcher’s lips. “I would.”

"You wouldn't. You like me too much to do that." Jaskier said resolutely, grinning at the witcher smugly.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think that?"

Jaskier just flashed another bright smile. "The fact that you're still here and I'm not lying on the ground. I mean, if you didn't care you would have just pushed me off, right? If you didn't like me, why would you stay? Why go through the trouble of making that potion? Why would you allow… any of this?" 

Geralt, yet again, elected to ignore Jaskier. Not that it had ever stopped the man from talking anyway.

"Ignoring the truth again, I see. You seem to do that quite a lot, you know? Ah well, no matter. I know I'm right." Jaskier sighed. He seemed to have no intentions of moving and Geralt had no intentions to push him away.

"Well, that would be a first." Geralt said curtly, causing the bard to predictably defend himself.

“ Hey! That’s not true! I’ve been right plenty of times! You want a list?” The bard took a deep breath, during which Geralt quickly intervened.

“No.” As usual, it did nothing to actually stop the incoming speech.

“-well here you go! First of all, remember that one time we had just camped and you said that I wouldn’t be able to get the fire going but-”

The witcher stared blankly as Jaskier began listing all the times he’d apparently been right and Geralt hadn’t. All made up, of course. He suppressed a smile as Jaskier began gesturing wildly as if that would make his stories any clearer- or truer. At some point he tuned Jaskier out, letting his voice become a familiar background noise. If the man was fine enough to spin a story and apparently act it out, he clearly wasn’t bothered by the wound anymore.

Geralt didn’t even bother to suppress the surge of relief that thought send through him.