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The path is a lonely place, a witcher's life is no place for sentiment, attachments, or the few pleasures of this world.
From the moment the trials begin until the second your heart finally stops beating, a witcher is meant to be alone. They are created and mutated to hunt and kill monsters, collect coin, and repeat.
The occasional stop at a brothel and the company of an animal or two is the most of the finer things they're allowed.
Geralt has known this for the decades upon decades he's been a witcher, before then even, when he'd heard the stories. Before long you become so alone you don't notice anymore and silence is expected.
He knew that witchers were destined to be hated, they had no emotions to share with this world, could never fall in love, or feel the joy of a bright day. Couldn't mourn the loss of a friend of a loved one.
There were moments in his past when he'd questioned these facts, when collateral damage during a hunt would leave him restless or plagued with nightmares, or when an especially warm touch would linger and catch his breath in his throat. But these suspicions were constantly put to rest, either by himself or by the hands of others who would cut the suspicion at the root.
It was first instilled in him when he was becoming a witcher, when his mother had left him for the school of the wolf and he was put through tortures unimaginable to change into the mutant he is now.
Vesemir told them that the trials would take their emotions from them, would take their chances at companionship and love, their appreciation for material things, their need for fineries and functions that humans needed to get by. He would be made into the perfect weapon. Nothing left to distract them once they were fully baked.
It was better this way, he was told, to be frozen inside. He had no worries in this world. He would do what he was built for and when he failed to do so he would die, it was as simple as that.
The last bit of affection he had was for his brothers, but that was passed off as respect, a mutual understanding of each other, and nothing more. That explains the slight relief of seeing them alive after another season on the path and was a good enough excuse to indulge in a warm embrace when they met again; respect.
It was a truth he'd grown to accept and live by.
Until he met someone who made him feel like he was upside down, thrown off his axis by a force he'd never know.
It was slow, when they'd met in Posada there was nothing special about the bard, he had been approached by humans who wished to get something out of him before, all he'd felt that day was tired and annoyed.
But then Jaskier followed him into the trap of the Sylvan. Geralt had hit him that day, harder than he'd usually hit a human but not hard enough to cause serious damage. He hadn't felt guilt until the man stood back up, laughed, and asked to help change his image.
No human had treated him with any more respect than a simple thank you for ridding their lands of a monster and the occasional tip, but Jaskier had seen that he misstepped and immediately tried to fix his mistake.
Geralt passed it off as wanting a song out of him, a first-hand adventure and lyrics that would get him paid. He expected Jaskier to get what he wanted out of him and then move on to the next interesting thing to write about.
He'd learned soon after to stop expecting things of Jaskier because the man was about as unpredictable as chaos itself.
When he expected Jaskier to leave he stuck around, when he expected him to stay he'd flutter off and return somewhere down the line.
He expected Jaskier to be no different from the rest of humanity, and that had been his biggest mistake. Jaskier never feared him the way the rest of them do, he treated Geralt in a way no one ever had.
Jaskier stayed when he first saw Geralt with his potions rotting in his system, his skin white and eyes black. Where he'd expected Jaskier to run away screaming he'd simply began demanding to be told how swallow worked, how long the effects lasted, and how on earth Geralt had hidden such an inspiring thing from him this entire time.
'The songs I can write now!' he'd yelled, running to create metaphors and poetry about such an ugly thing.
That was the moment Geralt's life started titling, his stomach had begun to twist, his mind unable to come up with an answer for the way he felt watching Jaskier staring at him with wonder where everyone else would be sick.
It only got worse, Jaskier was bright and happy and contagious. Geralt found himself smiling around him, wanting to stay awake longer on nights where Jaskier would sing songs just for them, in the voice he never shared with audiences. It would crack and shake, lower than normal and so much more truthful, something he'd chosen to share with Geralt of all people.
Jaskier trusted Geralt so immediately and unending. When Geralt told him to stay put because a certain creature was too dangerous he did, when Jaskier was low and so much different than he was day to day he let Geralt see. When the nights were cold he'd curl up next to Geralt as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he would yell at Geralt if he'd done something to piss off the bard as if he couldn't kill him without breaking a sweat, because he knew Geralt never would.
When he stopped on a star-less night to think about it, the thought of Jaskier dying at his hands nearly made him sick. The thought of him dying at all kept him on edge all night, he couldn't get a wink of sleep as he watched Jaskier, letting it sink in that he would feel pain when Jaskier died.
He would feel. Because of Jaskier.
It made him think of the words he'd been told, words that had been drilled into his mind.
'Believe me,' Vesemir had said when Geralt was new to the life and asking why things had to be the way they were, 'this loneliness never will go away.'
But it had, Geralt hasn't felt lonely since the last time Jaskier went off to Oxenfurt for the winter. He'd known nothing like loneliness all year with Jaskier at his side to fill the silence without expecting an answer, a comforting background noise that he could tune out of or listen to when he chose.
Jaskier was there when he fell asleep and when he woke up, he'd grown to expect it and feel comfort in the routine of it.
Geralt was going against everything he'd ever known, he felt so much when he was with Jaskier. Emotions he couldn't even begin to name that made him feel helpless and turned around.
It made him angry and restless not knowing, made him mad at Jaskier for allowing Geralt to feel so much because of him.
He'd explained this one night, to Yennefer while they were lying bed after a night of angry passion.
Yennefer wasn't one for light-hearted conversations about emotions after sex, but she was the only person Geralt felt he could speak to about this. The only person he trusted to not repeat the same speech about witchers and emotions, which he now knew was bullshit.
'Your friend will always just be in your way, he'll die or leave you in the end' She'd said, turning over so her back was facing him, the conversation decidedly over.
He'd rejected is newfound feelings after that, Jaskier was human, if he didn't come to his senses and stop caring for Geralt he would die anyway and Geralt would be left alone.
Human lives are fickle, fleeting at best and so very short compared to witchers, especially after all these years Geralt had wasted believing he had no emotions and could never be loved. Now he was far too late to return the feelings Jaskier had for him, far too late to have what he never could.
It's best to tear the bandage off, maybe give Jaskier a chance at a life he deserves before he wastes it on Geralt, and the witcher could find the uneasy peace he'd once known again, lonely in a way he couldn't notice and without the weakness of caring.
So he yelled, he blamed and he cursed Jaskier with every dirty lie he could come up with. He could feel himself cracking from the inside out, an unfamiliar part of him screaming and begging for the assault on Jaskier to end, the pain in his friend's eyes almost enough for him to fall to his knees and apologize then and there, tell him to never leave him alone.
But he didn't, he stood his ground with his teeth bared, preying Jaskier would leave as he'd told him to and he could wallow in his misery for a few hours before he went back to being a witcher and forced himself to forget the one man who'd ever cared for him.
'Are you finished?' Jaskier had asked, eyes fixed on the ground. Cocky, but scared at the same time. He knew Geralt too well to believe the words immediately, but the part of him that had never been taken in by another, that was always thrown out after a single use took them to heart the second they left Geralt's lips.
'I'm just getting started bard,' He bit out, the words tasting like ash and hurt on his tongue.
'Why?' Jaskier met his eyes now, speaking louder than his words could, so many intricate emotions and different sorts of hurt and mixed hope deep inside his blue eyes that Geralt wished he could feel for himself.
'All I want is to be left alone.' Lies, that last thing he wants is for Jaskier to leave, he's all Geralt has.
'Oh,' The word escaped Jaskier as more of a sigh than anything, his shoulders dropping as the tension from Geralt's verbal attack left him.
Geralt felt his facade slip, he couldn't understand what was going through Jaskier's mind as he approached Geralt and wrapped his arms around Geralt's shoulders, holding the witcher with the tenderness that he didn't deserve.
He wanted to push him off, to shout more or hurt him again, but the feeling of Jaskier pressed against him, holding him like he was enough for Jaskier made him melt. He breathed out a stuttering breath and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pressing his face into Jaskier's neck.
'Can't you see they're telling you lies?' Jaskier sounded so desperate for Geralt to see, his heart breaking when Geralt fell into his embrace, the pieces he'd tried so hard to hold together while he pushed him away crumbled to dust.
So many people had treated him wrong, so many lies must have been told for Geralt to believe he was better off alone, had to get rid of anything good so that he could be the model of what they wanted him to be. Jaskier would have none of it.
'Leave me,' Geralt replied but didn't let go. 'My heart is dead, can't you see? I can't give you what you deserve.'
'Fuck what you think I deserve. I want you.' Jaskier squeezed him as tight as his arms would allow, needing Geralt to hear the words. It would take years to reverse the damage that has been done inside of his head, to re-write the lies that had been taught to be truths, but he would spend the rest of his life convincing Geralt of all he's worthy of.
In that moment, Geralt knew that all that had been instilled in him was wrong, as the tears wet Jaskier's doublet and his hands trembled where they were clutching the very same shirt, pain like this couldn't be faked.
'It's okay, I'm staying Geralt and we'll figure this out together I swear to you.'
'Okay.'
Maybe Geralt couldn't get back the time that had been stolen from him, but Jaskier would make damn sure that he was loved for all the time he had left.