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When Geralt found him, Jaskier was ecstatic like always. Though the timing was a bit unexpected, as the days were cold and usually he’d be at Kaer Morhen by then. Jaskier couldn’t have predicted the reason for Geralt’s unexpected timing, genuinely surprised when he asked him if he’d accompany him to Kaer Morhen for the winter.
His first thought was: is this actually Geralt or some impostor?
His second thought was,
“Of course,” he answered, trying to push down some of his excitement, lest he give Geralt the wrong - though technically right - idea. That he was abnormally excited at the prospect of spending even longer with him, and meeting his family on top of it. Jaskier was already wondering how he’d make the best first impression he could when they took off in the morning.
His excitement was probably why he didn’t consider any of the risks.
*
“A pleasure,” he greeted brightly, sticking a hand out. He hoped his palm wasn’t half as sweaty as it felt when one of the three men stepped forward and took it, an amused quirk to his mouth. Jaskier heard a huff of something like laughter from his side and couldn’t even bother to feel embarrassed at Geralt’s laugh because he had laughed.
The man had dark hair and a nasty looking scar but there was no denying the friendly way he held himself, unlike Geralt in so many ways.
“Eskel,” he said. “I would ask your name but I’m afraid I already know.”
Jaskier didn’t point out that he also knew his name from all the stories he’d heard from Geralt, though he was pleasantly surprised to find out Geralt had apparently told them of him as well.
“Mm, yeah,” one of the other men said, obviously Lambert as Vesemir was easy to pick out of the trio. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes sparkled. “None of us could forget your name if we tried, given how much—”
A blur of movement and Lambert was hunched over, a hand clamped over his side. Jaskier blinked at Geralt, who glared at the other man openly.
“Um.” Suddenly there was a tension in the air he didn’t quite know what to do with. Thankfully the tension was broken when Vesemir stepped up and offered a hand. Jaskier’s cheeks were warm as he ducked his head and took it. “Thank you for allowing me to stay.”
When he looked up, Vesemir was peering at Geralt fondly. “A friend of one is a friend to us all.”
*
The first few days were serene, unexpectedly so. Even when Jaskier sat in the courtyard, watching the others as they sparred. Vesemir still acted as a mentor, commanding them, allowing small breaks. During their third break, Geralt walked over and plopped down next to him with a grunt and a creak that was scarily probably his bones.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he sighed, leaning forward. He watched as Lambert and Eskel sat together, talking in hushed voices. He pretended not to notice the way they kept stealing glances at them. Jaskier wondered idly what they were waiting for.
Geralt let out a harsh laugh. “I know what happens if I don’t,” he said, and Jaskier quickly drew his attention away from the others to look at Geralt, who was staring ahead with a frown.
“Oh.” For once Jaskier found himself at a loss for words.
Geralt breathed in, eyelashes fluttering. “As if monsters aren’t bad enough,” he muttered, tilting his head back, “humans are no better.”
“Too bad humans don’t take kindly to songs of their own horrors,” he replied quietly. Geralt laughed again but it was softer, genuine, a sound Jaskier didn’t hear very often. He ignored the too-fast thump of his heart.
Vesemir called for them after a few minutes and Jaskier watched as Geralt stood up, rolling his shoulders with a small grimace. Jaskier bit his lip. If he was lucky, Geralt wouldn’t be a sourpuss and would let him massage his shoulders later.
He melted under his hands whenever he did it but over the years he had denied it more and more frequently. Jaskier smiled, peering up at the sky.
*
Jaskier caught Geralt on his way back to his room after his bath. He looked lovely, as he always did when he was freshly washed, hair falling loosely over his shoulders, skin glistening from the leftover droplets. Jaskier smiled brightly.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
Jaskier winked. Sometimes he was happy for his reputation, for the way he could do those kinds of things and Geralt didn’t react, just stared blankly at him.
“Your shoulders are killing you, aren’t they?” he asked, tilting his head. Witcher or not, Jaskier knew very well that Geralt wasn’t invincible. Whether from a hunt, or sparring too long, his muscles and joints started to bother him.
Geralt blinked slowly. “How do you know?”
If he was braver, he might’ve answered truthfully—that he noticed every little thing about Geralt. That he always had his eyes on him. Instead he ignored the question entirely, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm.
“Let me help,” he said simply. Geralt stared at him for a long moment before nodding curtly, stepping around him. Jaskier just smiled, ducking his head, as he followed him to his room.
*
Jaskier didn’t actually remember much after that; when he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find he wasn’t in his room. Smacking his lips, he rubbed at his eyes and rolled over. It was only then he realized he was in Geralt’s room.
Because Geralt was on the bed with him, obviously still asleep. Jaskier peered down at his body. He was still dressed and so was Geralt, and they were both on top of the blanket. Huh. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought back to last night.
He had finished giving Geralt a massage and they had started talking, both on the bed, about anything and everything. Jaskier had never heard Geralt say so much at once and he didn’t want to leave, even as his eyelids grew heavy.
Jaskier smiled slightly, opening his eyes. He had obviously fallen asleep, then, and Geralt had left him.
“Hey, Geralt,” he said, reaching over to shake his shoulder when suddenly the door slammed open and Jaskier jumped away from him. Geralt groaned as he sat up.
Jaskier blinked owlishly at the figure in the doorway. Lambert blinked once, eyes flickering between them, before he shook his head and straightened up.
“There’s a mob,” he said gruffly. “Just some rowdy humans but Eskel spotted a few bows. We need you.”
Jaskier’s eyes grew even wider as he watched Geralt quickly jump out of bed, going for his swords. He slid to the edge of the bed. He wanted to offer to help but he knew he’d just get in the way, like always. He cursed himself silently.
“Will you be okay?” he asked, eyes on Geralt, as if Lambert wasn’t even there.
Geralt turned to look at him. “This isn’t the first time some humans have managed their way up here,” he said. He swiftly took a few steps across the room and opened a drawer, yanking something out and tossing it on the bed. Jaskier idly registered it as a dagger, still sheathed. “Stay inside. Don’t do anything until I tell you it’s safe.”
Jaskier squeezed the sheets in his fists, nodding. “I could help,” he began, but it was too late; they were both gone in a blur of movement. He heard the distant clatter of a fight and cursed again, reaching for the dagger.
He was an idiot, he supposed, for not realizing this was a possibility. He knew how cruel humans could be.
For a while he sat there, dagger clutched in his hand. The distant sound of battle continued for what was probably fifteen, twenty minutes. When all the noise stopped suddenly, Jaskier slowly stood up and walked to the window, peering out.
There were less than a dozen dead bodies, scattered around the courtyard. Jaskier easily spotted Geralt alongside Lambert. He seemed okay, just little roughed up. His heart finally started to beat again.
Jaskier didn’t even noticed the arrow whizzing toward him.
*
When Jaskier opened his eyes, his first thought was, Oh, Geralt is going to be so mad. His second thought, which followed quickly, was that his shoulder was on fire. He barely turned his head when he noticed the others in the room, standing all around him with looks of pure rage. Jaskier might’ve been expecting that from Geralt but was a little shocked to see it on the others.
“Listen,” he began, voice croaky and mouth painfully dry, “I know I—”
Suddenly Geralt slumped in the chair by the bed, grasping his hand. “They knew you were here,” he interrupted. Jaskier blinked slowly, not quite understanding. Who were they?
Eskel stepped up to Geralt’s side. “They must’ve seen you with Geralt on your way here,” he continued. Since meeting Eskel, Jaskier had thought he always looked kind. Now his eyes burned with rage. Jaskier blinked again when Lambert shoved a glass of water in his face.
Smiling gratefully, he sat up with Geralt’s generous help and took a small sip. He didn’t dare look at his shoulder.
“Who were they?” he asked finally.
Geralt squeezed his hand, frowning. “That isn’t important,” he said, and Lambert scoffed, looking off to the side.
“Bastards,” he answered unhelpfully. Jaskier pressed his lips together.
Eskel sighed, shaking his head. “It happens once in a while, humans thinking they can kill us off,” he explained. There was a long pause. “But this time was different.”
They all grew quiet and Jaskier could feel the tension in the air, as if he was waiting to be told he was going to die. Vesemir stepped forward. Jaskier noticed he was holding the arrow, split in two. Jaskier looked to the person he trusted most—not only here, in this room, but in the world, searching for an answer. Geralt visibly swallowed as he took one piece of the arrow.
He extended it out toward Jaskier, who stared at the tip. It was still slightly wet with blood and—Jaskier squinted, looking closer. There was something else, too, lighter and nearly glowing.
“Um.” He looked up and Geralt stared back.
Eskel set something down near Jaskier’s leg. He peered curiously at the piece of parchment, torn and bloody. “It was wrapped around the arrow,” he explained.
Jaskier nodded slowly, picking up the note, because, as he opened it, he realized that’s what it was. A note. Not to him, but the others.
You kill beasts, do you not?
Jaskier reread the words a few times before he looked up. “What does it mean?” His eyes flickered to the arrow, the odd liquid. His stomach churned at the possibilities. “Is that some kind of—of poison?”
“We don’t know yet,” Vesemir said, speaking finally. He stood at the window, staring out of it. “But until we know for certain, we have to be safe.” He turned away from the window. “We’ll have someone stay with you at all times, and you must inform us of any abnormalities.”
Jaskier blinked. “And?” he prodded gently, because it wouldn’t be that easy.
Vesemir sighed. “I will see if I can’t call for help,” he replied. “Until then,” he continued, looking around at the others, “we’ll be taking shifts—”
“I’ll take the first shift,” Geralt said swiftly. Jaskier noticed then that he was still gripping his hand. His chest warmed as he lightly squeezed back.
*
Jaskier didn’t remember much after that, quickly falling asleep after Geralt forced him to eat a bit of soup. He was woken at some point by a sharp pain in his spine. Groaning, he opened his eyes. It was the middle of the night, he knew that by the dark sky outside of the window. The room should’ve been pitch-black to him, but when he turned his head and saw Geralt still by his side, he realized that wasn’t the case.
He could tell it was dark, but he had no trouble seeing in it.
Geralt made a sudden noise in the back of his throat and his own eyes snapped open. “Jaskier?” he asked. Jaskier tried to give a small smile, startling when his bottom lip caught on too-long, too-sharp teeth.
“Jaskier,” he repeated, reaching out for him. Jaskier blinked as Geralt grabbed his face with both hands, staring at him with wide eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him with eyes so big. “Open your mouth,” he commanded suddenly, and Jaskier quickly obeyed without missing a beat.
If he trusted anyone, it was Geralt.
Jaskier could feel when Geralt brushed his thumbs over the tips of his teeth—fangs, he realized idly. He had fangs, and Geralt was staring at him like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
“I’m assuming you haven’t been hiding such a deep secret from me,” he muttered under his breath, and Jaskier nearly laughed.
He was many things, but not a very good liar, especially to Geralt. “Do I even want to know what I look like?”
Geralt kept touching his fangs, like he was convinced he could rip them out. Jaskier finally pressed his lips together over them, glaring at him. Geralt looked mildly guilty as he pulled his hands back. “Your eyes,” he said. “And those.” He nodded to his mouth, the very tips of his fangs still visible. “You…”
Jaskier waited patiently. “Well?”
“You look like a vampire,” he said, doing little to hide his own disbelief. Jaskier barked out a laugh that quickly and abruptly stopped when he realized Geralt wasn’t joking.
Geralt quietly stood up and retrieved a mirror before returning, extending it in a silent offer. Jaskier snatched it out of his hand and peered at his reflection.
Or where his reflection should’ve been, at least. Jaskier dropped the mirror to his lap. He side-eyed Geralt as he drew his medallion out from under his clothes. Jaskier didn’t need to touch it to know it was trembling, could hear it.
He could hear everything, he realized slowly.
“Oh,” he muttered weakly. Geralt placed a hand on his arm. He was warm, too-warm, or maybe Jaskier was just too cold.
“I’m waking them up,” he said, leaving no room for argument. Jaskier just nodded, watching as he rushed out of the room.
*
They were arguing. Too loud. Jaskier stared from the bed, knees pulled to his chest. He still didn’t know what he looked like, given he couldn’t see his own reflection, but Lambert’s reaction—the most honest of them all—had told him enough.
“You have to hurry up,” Geralt was saying to Vesemir, hands curled into fists at his sides.
Vesemir stared at him, completely calm. “I have already sent out for help; all we can do now is wait.”
“But what if—” Geralt replied, throwing an arm out in Jaskier’s direction. He growled and his arm fell, turning away. Jaskier normally would’ve been up to comfort him in seconds, if he wanted it or not, but he couldn’t.
He was pretty sure if he stood up right now he’d pass out, which was interesting. He thought vampires were stronger than this. He felt weak. Even weaker than normal.
Eskel took the job instead, stepping up and wrapping an arm around the other man. Jaskier took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He saw white dots swimming on the back of his eyelids.
“He’s hungry,” broke the silence. It was Lambert.
Jaskier opened his eyes. “What?” he croaked, not understanding. He had heard stories from Geralt. “I thought vampires didn’t need blood,” he said, gripping his elbows hard. He wouldn’t do it. No matter the consequences.
“Higher vampires don’t need blood,” he replied easily. “They’re rare. You’re not one of them.”
Jaskier blinked owlishly.
“Well, what happens if I don’t—” he gestured vaguely, wildly. Eskel pushed Geralt forward forcefully and he went, dropping on the bed. Jaskier turned his full attention on him.
He reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly. “We’ll take care of it.” Jaskier wanted to scream. As if it was that easy.
“Did that poison do this to me?” he asked. “The note—it was a warning, right?”
Geralt squeezed his knee. “If it was, they obviously underestimated us,” he replied without missing a beat.
*
Jaskier stayed his room all day; he wondered how Geralt did it, being able to hear and smell everything. He had never been more overwhelmed. He had taken one step out of his room and fallen to the floor, hands pressed over his ears. Thankfully Geralt had found him before too long, hauling him back inside his room and to his bed.
He wasn’t sure what time it was when Geralt returned but what he did know was what he had in his hand. A metal cup of blood. Jaskier bristled, hugging his knees hard enough he heard his own bones creak.
“I won’t do it,” he said.
Geralt approached slowly, gently sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink it,” he said, extending the cup to him. Jaskier’s nose twitched.
“Where did you even get that?” he asked, glaring at him. Geralt should’ve understood better than any of them why he didn’t want to drink it. Jaskier tilted his head back, chin up, staring at Geralt with stone-cold eyes. No matter what those bastards did, he wouldn’t play their game. He wouldn’t become a monster, not in the ways that counted.
Geralt stared back. “Drink it,” he repeated. Jaskier hugged his knees tighter, shaking his head. He didn’t expect what Geralt said next, and it might’ve been the pure shock of it that made him obey, “Please, Jaskier. It’ll make you feel better.”
He barely realized he had grabbed the cup until he was taking the first sip. It was disgusting and the best thing he’d ever tasted at once. “What the fuck is this?” he asked, and Geralt dared to smirk.
“Animal blood.”
Jaskier let out a strangled laugh, feeling an odd weight off his shoulders. He took another small sip. “Do vampires sleep?” he asked after a long stretch of silence.
“They don’t have to,” he replied, looking off into the distance thoughtfully. “Sometimes when they’re injured, they will enter a healing slumber, but they don’t need sleep like a human.”
Jaskier nodded. As if reading his mind, Geralt turned to him with a small smile.
“But you can sleep, just for the sake of it.”
Jaskier smiled back slowly. “Thank you,” he said.
He looked away, lips twitching. “I’ll check on you throughout the night,” he replied. “Get some rest.”
*
When Jaskier opened his eyes, he took in a deep breath and somehow he knew something had changed. Quickly sitting up, he glanced around the room. He was alone. He tried not to be too disappointed as he reached for the mirror on the bedside table, having sat untouched for over twelve hours. His hand shook as he raised the mirror.
He let out a sudden laugh as his reflection peered back at him. He looked like himself in every way, dark brown hair that was a bit too greasy and puffy blue eyes.
The door opened just seconds later. Jaskier slowly lowered the mirror, looking over. Geralt stood in the doorway. “I—I heard your laugh,” he explained as he stumbled into the room. “Your eyes,” he breathed as he drew closer.
Jaskier smiled brightly. “I think it’s—”
But before he could finish his sentence, Geralt was sitting on the bed and taking one of his hands, pressing it to his chest. Jaskier blinked owlishly, not understanding, but then he felt it: the gentle tremble of his medallion.
Jaskier cursed under his breath. “But look at me,” he argued weakly.
“Something still isn’t right,” Geralt said, eyeing him like he could find the clue, solve the puzzle. Jaskier noticed he was still holding his hand. He was hardly complaining; he turned his hand over, and nearly sobbed when their fingers slotted together. He was pretty sure the physical contact was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
*
Jaskier barely ate anything at supper despite his grumbling stomach. As if his situation wasn’t bad enough already, he couldn’t eat with all their eyes on him, watching his every move. After taking a couple bites of his stew, he stood up and left without a word.
The door opened a few minutes later. Jaskier was already in bed, eyes squeezed shut. Even so, he knew who it was. “Are you scared of me, Geralt?”
“I could never be scared of you,” was his reply.
Jaskier breathed in deeply, opening his eyes a crack. He jerked his chin and, as if reading his mind, Geralt approached and sat gingerly on the bed. “What’s happening to me?” he asked.
“Most likely it’s some kind of potion,” he replied, and Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d ever heard his voice so soft. His skin prickled, strangely angry. He had always wanted him to speak to him like that, but never under these circumstances. “Once help arrives, they should be able to tell more.”
Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut again. For a long while they were both silent. Jaskier was beginning to wonder if Geralt was going to stay with him all night.
“Look,” he heard finally, and Jaskier opened his eyes. Geralt was pointing to the window. Jaskier twisted around to look. The moon was shining brightly, high in the sky. It was a beautiful sight. Jaskier didn’t understand why his stomach was churning.
Suddenly there was a sharp pain in the back of his neck. He slapped a hand over the spot and bent forward, cursing wildly. Geralt’s touch was painful on both of his arms.
“Jaskier, what is it?” he heard through the rushing in his ears. “Jaskier, look at—”
He felt like his skin was ripping apart, and after a while he tasted blood. He would realize later he was biting his own tongue with his sharpening teeth. Geralt held onto him through all of it.
“Jaskier, you’re okay,” he heard once the rushing started to subside. Jaskier slowly opened his eyes; he was gripping tightly onto the front of Geralt’s shirt with both hands. Hands that were covered in dark fur. He slowly loosened his grip and pulled his hands back. Geralt’s shirt was ripped. Shredded. Like an animal had attacked him.
He opened his mouth but no words came out, just a strangled sound like a sob.
“You’re okay,” he repeated, and Jaskier forcefully pushed him away, scrambling back on the bed. Geralt stared at him without an ounce of fear; Jaskier knew, because he could smell him. There was the sour stench of worry that he was beginning to grow familiar with but no fear. His heart pounded in his chest.
He could feel it, the urge to rip something apart—with his fangs, or his claws, it didn’t matter. Jaskier lifted his hand and bit his wrist hard enough he tasted fresh blood again. Geralt cursed and reached for him.
“Jaskier,” he chided. Jaskier shook his head, hard, moving out of his reach. The blood poured down the back of his throat and quelled the hunger.
The door opened and Jaskier knew it was all of them without looking; there were four heartbeats in total, slow but steady.
“Geralt,” that was Vesemir’s voice, stern and unwavering. “Get over here.”
Jaskier slowly lowered his wrist, licking what blood was left off his lips. Geralt stared at him still and Jaskier knew what he was going to say long before he opened his mouth. “No,” he replied finally. “I’m not leaving him.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” hissed from the doorway. “He’ll be fine, but we can’t risk you or someone else.”
Jaskier hated that he was right. He could forgive himself for a lot—he had already made many mistakes in his life—but he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for hurting Geralt, no matter the circumstances. No matter if he wasn’t himself. His stomach growled loudly again, no longer satisfied with what he had given it.
“He won’t hurt any of us,” Geralt shot back without ever taking his eyes off Jaskier. Jaskier made a wounded sound in the back of his throat.
Geralt really was an idiot. In a flash, Jaskier moved across the bed and tackled Geralt. He distantly registered the sound of metal. Jaskier buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, breathing in. His stomach burned, begging for more, but then he felt an unexpectedly gentle hand on his back and his mouth snapped shut.
“Put that thing away,” he heard. Geralt’s voice. “Look. I told you.” His hand splayed out across Jaskier’s back. “He won’t hurt me.”
A strangled laugh that Jaskier was pretty sure belonged to Lambert. “You, I believe. What about the rest of us?”
Jaskier took in a deep breath. Geralt’s scent was all around him. He buried his face harder against his skin, letting the familiar and comforting scent dull the ache in his stomach. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was Geralt’s voice, close to his ear, low and soft, “Shh. You’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”
*
Jaskier remembered waking up a few times but every time Geralt was at his side. With a soft smile, uncharacteristic of the man he knew, he would press a bottle to his lips and tell him to drink. Jaskier never questioned him, just drank and fell back asleep.
*
Finally he woke up and the bottle was nowhere to be seen, just Geralt gazing down at him with a hint of worry. “It’s a new day,” he said. Jaskier slowly sat up with his help, a hand against the small of his back, and glanced at his hands; they were bare of any fur, and a flick of his tongue confirmed that the fangs were gone as well.
“What is going on?” he asked, voice hoarse from not being used for so long.
Geralt’s hand lingered on his back. “Every new day you’re shifting from one beast to the next,” he said. Jaskier blinked, turning to look at him. He wasn’t looking at him though but glaring at a spot over his shoulder. “That’s what we guess is happening, at least, based on what we’ve seen so far. And the note.”
Jaskier nodded slowly. “They wanted you to kill me.”
“They wanted to hurt us,” he corrected, finally looking at him. His eyes burned with rage.
Jaskier didn’t know what to say. He glanced around the room. There was no sign of any visitors. “That stuff you were making me drink,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “What was it?”
Geralt sighed, and finally his hand fell from his back. Jaskier tried not to be too disappointed. Now really wasn’t the time for his pesky feelings to get in the way. “A potion. Keeps you asleep.”
He looked at him with wide eyes. “I could just keep drinking that, right?” he asked hopefully. “Until—”
But Geralt was already shaking his head. “It can only be used in small doses. Too much of it and you might not wake up.”
Jaskier’s shoulders slumped as he turned to the window. The sun was peeking out from a cluster of clouds. “A vampire,” he muttered, “and…” He realized he didn’t actually know what he’d been last night, unable to think clearly or get a look at himself. Geralt grunted and he side-eyed him. He looked to be in pain.
“Werewolf,” he told him.
Jaskier nodded again, biting the inside of his cheek. He didn’t dare ask the question they were both thinking. Instead he glanced at Geralt, chest tight. “You stayed with me,” he said.
Predictably Geralt didn’t look at him, just stared ahead with a clenched jaw. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” he replied like it was really that simple, and Jaskier realized it was.
“Still a stupid thing to test,” he muttered. “Don’t do it again.”
Geralt didn’t reply, and they both knew he wasn’t going to listen.
*
Geralt was angry. Jaskier was surprised to find that he could tell just by the glint in his eyes, even though he’d said nothing for over an hour. Vesemir placed a gentle hand on his back and led him through; the cell was dark and cold. Jaskier blinked when Eskel stepped forward and handed him a stack of blankets, warmed by the gesture.
Finally Geralt broke his silence, “This is ridiculous.”
Jaskier smiled slightly as the door was pulled shut, clicking into place. Vesemir nodded once, seemingly satisfied, before turning to Geralt. “We have been lucky so far,” he said, “but we can’t expect luck to stay on our side.”
“He hasn’t hurt any of us,” Geralt replied, an odd edge to his voice, “and yet you’re locking him up like—”
Jaskier stepped forward, wrapping a hand around one of the bars. It was thick and cold. He was pretty sure they could hold him, no matter what happened. “I can’t risk it, Geralt,” he interrupted. Geralt’s mouth snapped shut as he looked at him. “If I hurt you,” Jaskier swallowed, eyes flickering to the side, “any of you,” he corrected, “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
Geralt didn’t reply, and eventually Eskel placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You read the letter - help should be arriving tomorrow,” he said, low and soothing. “Just for tonight.”
“I’m not leaving him,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, Geralt plopped rather gracelessly to the ground. Jaskier blinked, a little surprised. He hid his pleased smile behind a hand.
Lambert grumbled something that sounded vaguely like, “stubborn idiot,” and Vesemir just sighed, shaking his head. Jaskier slowly slid to the ground.
“If you need help—” Eskel began, but Geralt interrupted him before he could finish, “I won’t.”
Jaskier watched as the rest of them left, disappearing down the hall. Then it was just the two of them and the impending knowledge that he wouldn’t be human for much longer. Geralt sat with his back to Jaskier, leaning against the bars. Jaskier watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, slow and steady.
“Can I ask you something?” he piped up finally.
Geralt grunted. “What?”
Jaskier knew he was probably expecting something regarding the current situation. He pulled his legs up and rested his arms on his knees. “Why did you invite me?”
There was a long silence. Jaskier was beginning to wonder if he would receive an answer or not.
“I wanted you to see where I grew up,” he answered eventually. Jaskier nodded slowly, though he knew he couldn’t see him.
Jaskier stared at the back of his head. How many times he had he washed his hair? Countless, now. He smiled a little. “Is there a particular reason?”
“I—” Geralt hummed, a deep rumble. Twisting around, he peered at Jaskier in the dark. “I wanted you to meet everyone,” he said gruffly. Jaskier didn’t say anything, just quietly nodded. “This place, them. They are important to me.”
Jaskier still didn’t say anything, knowing somehow that he wasn’t finished.
“And you,” he continued, looking away. “You’re important to me.”
Jaskier felt like he couldn’t breathe. At first he thought it was just the pure shock of Geralt’s confession but as the seconds ticked by and he started to gasp, he realized it was more than that. He vaguely heard Geralt’s voice, distant, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.
Of all the times he had turned, or shifted, this was easily the worst. He would know, later, it was because he’d been lucky so far, and a vampire and werewolf were both fairly humanoid, so the changes to his body had been somewhat minimum. This was not like that at all and the pain just proved it; he felt like his entire body was being ripped apart, bones cracking.
Even when it was over, things were so wrong.
He couldn’t speak; he tried, and he just made disgusting noises. He could see, but his vision was weird, blurry and without color, like he was drunk but worse.
“Oh.” Geralt’s soft exclaim was the most worrying of all. He had stood up at some point and now he peered at him with wide eyes.
Jaskier was still himself, was the worst part, he would decide later. Even as he couldn’t quite form words, or move very much (the cell was suddenly so small), he was still himself. He still knew it was Geralt that stood on the other side of the bars, who he loved and adored, who he wanted so desperately and could never have.
Unlike when he had shifted to the werewolf, he didn’t feel much of anything. He felt, actually, nothing at all. Even staring at Geralt, who he knew he loved, logically.
“You’ll be okay,” he heard, a little distorted like he was listening to him from underwater. Distant footsteps. Jaskier turned his head just as the rest of them came running up, looking disheveled. Lambert’s muttered curse was surprisingly clear. “Don’t,” Geralt said quickly, and Jaskier watched as he turned to all of them. “He’s okay.”
He blinked, once, slowly, wishing to speak. Vesemir stepped up. “We won’t hurt him, Geralt,” he said, “but we need to stay, just in case.”
Geralt was silent for a while before he glanced back at him. Jaskier wondered what he was looking at. What beast he had he turned to. “Okay,” he said finally, uncharacteristically soft, “but he’ll need some water.”
“I’ll fetch it,” Eskel said without missing a beat.
Jaskier didn’t actually remember much after that.
*
He opened his eyes to an unexpected sight; Geralt, peering down at him. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night, and he probably hadn’t. Jaskier realized a few seconds later their position; his head on Geralt’s thigh. Normally he might’ve cracked a joke to lighten the mood but frankly he was too tired. And wet. Every inch of his skin was damp.
“If they let you in here with me, I must be human again,” he muttered.
Geralt grunted. “A letter arrived an hour ago,” he said, and it was only then Jaskier realized something else—Geralt’s hand in his hair, not quite stroking but resting there, like he might’ve been doing it before he opened his eyes. “Help should arrive before midnight.”
He should’ve been joyful, probably, but he really was tired despite having slept for so long. All he could feel was a slight warmth in his chest, and that had nothing to do with the news.
“I’m okay,” he said after a long moment. “You should get some rest.”
Geralt hummed, and his fingers twitched in his hair. Jaskier could only imagine how disgusting his hair probably felt, but he didn’t seem to care. As if he would, he supposed, Geralt was used to far less ideal situations. “I’m fine,” he said, and Jaskier knew he was lying. Geralt could act as uncaring and tough as he wanted but in the end Jaskier had never met a more selfless person.
“Where are the others?” he asked, squinting up at him.
His mouth curled just a little. “Sleeping.”
Jaskier smiled, just as small. “Like you should be.”
“I’ll sleep once this is all over,” he replied, and Jaskier simply didn’t have the energy to fight with him, and if he was honest, he might’ve been a little pleased. Closing his eyes, he felt Geralt’s hand begin to move again and sleep quickly pulled him under. He wondered idly what kind of monster he had been.
*
Jaskier didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he was gently woken up in the exact same spot as before. For the first few seconds he just blinked blearily up at Geralt until suddenly he realized it wasn’t just them in the cell.
Quickly sitting up, he stared wide-eyed at the newcomer. Not Vesemir or Eskel or Lambert, or even Yennefer, though she was equally as beautiful. The difference, of course, was the kind edge to her dark eyes.
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said with obvious amusement. “I didn’t realize—”
Geralt loudly cleared his throat, and she pursed her purple-red lips.
“Right, of course, don’t mind me,” she continued, walking closer. Jaskier felt a thrill deep in his spine when she crouched near him; Geralt might’ve had his heart, but he was still only a man and she scrunched her nose up as if she had read his mind. He really hoped she didn’t have that particular ability. “Oh, dear, this might be a bit out of my expertise.”
Geralt grunted from behind him. “Yennefer is nowhere to be found,” he said, “I don’t trust anyone else.”
Jaskier smiled slightly, unable to help himself. Thankfully Geralt couldn’t see it, but the woman smiled knowingly at him. That was enough to make him stop.
“Triss,” she greeted, extending a hand.
Jaskier took it with a gentle shake. “Jaskier.”
“I know,” she replied easily, eyes crinkling. Jaskier blinked, but didn’t question how. Vesemir had probably mentioned him in his letters. She clapped her hands together. “Now how about we try to fix your current problem?”
Jaskier cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. “What do you need from me?”
“Not much,” she said before smiling brightly. “I just hope blood doesn’t make you too queasy.”
He exchanged a look with Geralt, who just nodded. Good enough for him. If Geralt trusted her, she was obviously trustworthy. Turning back, he smiled. “Of course not.” Traveling with Geralt for so long had numbed him to many things, though he still winced when - an hour later - Triss made a slice across the palm of his hand.
Jaskier watched, a bit mesmerized, as she collected his blood in a small cup. The dining hall was full, with Vesemir and the others watching from a respectable distance while Geralt stood far closer, mouth pinched and jaw tight.
“Isn’t that enough?” he asked after a while, and Triss clicked her tongue without looking at him.
“Just a little more,” she said. Seemingly satisfied, she placed the cup aside, careful as if not to spill a drop, before taking Jaskier’s hand.
He smiled slightly when she turned his hand upward. Jaskier was almost disappointed. If only he had met her sooner, before he’d ever laid eyes upon Geralt.
“Turn your hand over when I say to,” she instructed.
They were all silent as she worked, drawing on the floor with his blood, making a circle around Jaskier with some symbols he didn’t bother to try and understand. Jaskier kept looking over, feeling Geralt’s gaze on him. He smiled again, and Geralt quickly glanced away.
“There,” she said, straightening up.
Jaskier turned to her, taking a deep breath that he hoped was mostly discreet. “Should I be scared?”
“Of course not,” she said but her confidence wasn’t nearly as comforting as Yennefer’s. “If anything, you might feel a little—uncomfortable. The potion is mixed with your blood; all I’m doing is pulling it out.”
Jaskier doubted that, but he smiled anyway, squaring his shoulders. “Right, well.” He gave a short nod.
He could feel the shift in the room as she began to recite something, quiet but powerful. Even he could feel the power in her words as she continued, eyes half-lidded. “Now,” she said, and he hesitated for a moment before turning his hand over.
The blood that had collected in the palm of his hand dripped to the floor. Jaskier didn’t know if it was working, but she continued to chant.
Jaskier knew when it was working because he felt it; a strangle tug through his veins that led to the palm of his hand. Some of the blood drew darker, darker, until it was black. He looked over at Geralt, wide-eyed, who just stared back.
She hadn’t lied; it wasn’t painful, really, just uncomfortable and wrong.
When she finished, she hurried forward and took his hand. “Here,” she said, and he watched, a little dizzy, as she healed the palm of his hand. Jaskier smiled, blinking slowly, when she stepped back. “How do you feel?”
Jaskier just grinned wider. “I feel—” He swayed a bit and laughed when Geralt was suddenly at his side, holding him up. Triss cringed, looking sorry.
“I expected as much.” She ignored him, now, looking at Geralt. “He’ll need rest.” She paused. “Lots of it.”
Jaskier hummed, not really listening as he leaned heavily against Geralt’s side.
*
Jaskier felt like he had been drained completely; opening his eyes slowly, he turned his head with a groan. He wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t alone, but he was surprised that it wasn’t Geralt by his side. The last few days he had practically been glued to his side.
“I forced him to take a nap,” were the first words out of Lambert’s upturned mouth.
Jaskier gave a small smile in return. “Good,” he croaked and rolled his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
“He really didn’t want to leave your side,” he continued. “I had to assure him I would fetch him as soon as you woke up.”
Jaskier side-eyed him. “Our secret,” he replied, and Lambert let out a chuckle.
“I understand now why he’s so fond of you,” he said, tilting his head and staring at him like he was a particularly confusing puzzle. “I didn’t, at first, but now I get it.”
Jaskier snorted. “I didn’t even know he liked me,” he confessed to the ceiling, thinking back to his first few years with Geralt. Looking back, he could pinpoint the moment everything had changed. It had been when Geralt found him after the mountain; that had also been the first time he apologized to Jaskier. Not once, or twice, but many times before finally Jaskier had told him to shut up.
“He’s like that,” he agreed. “He thinks he’s better off alone but he can’t help himself.”
Jaskier made a small noise, his only reply. As if sensing his discomfort, Lambert helped him up and offered him a glass of water. He took a sip.
“He never even hesitated,” he continued, and Jaskier paused with the glass halfway to his lips. “No matter what you did, or were, he never hesitated. He trusts you.”
Jaskier smiled slightly. “I trust him,” he replied. It was the most simple truth in the world.
With a nod, Lambert stood up. “Prepare yourself; if I wait any longer, I’ll never be forgiven.”
He watched as he left the room and sighed, tilting his head back. At least now he felt a little more energized, thanks to the water. Jaskier had nearly dozed off again when he heard approaching footsteps. Opening his eyes, he smiled at the sight of Geralt, who looked far better than he had in days.
“Look at you,” he said.
Geralt snorted as he approached the bed and sat down. “Look at you,” he parroted, and Jaskier just grinned wider.
For a while they just sat together. Jaskier had never been a big fan of silence, but as Geralt’s companion, he had eventually learned to appreciate it—in moderation, at least. Finally it was Geralt who broke it, “I shouldn’t have invited you.”
“Oh, don’t do that, you big oaf,” he replied quickly. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” he said, and Jaskier blinked, genuinely surprised. “I shouldn’t have invited you here without telling you the whole truth.” Geralt stared down at his hands. “We’re—” He paused. “I’m lucky it was just some stupid potion, and not poison.”
Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay quiet. Geralt sighed and looked up.
“If you had died, I would’ve held onto this regret for the rest of my life,” he continued. Jaskier had never seen Geralt cry, wasn’t even sure if he could, but now his eyes shone. “For that reason, I need you to know.”
He nodded slowly. Surely he was misunderstanding. Hope was a dangerous thing; fun for songs, but not much more. Geralt didn’t look at him even now, staring at the wall with a tight jaw.
“I care for you, Jaskier,” he said each word like it pained him. “More than I should.”
Jaskier cracked a small smile. That wasn’t news to him. They had had a similar conversation a long time ago, a few months after they’d reunited following the mountain. Jaskier had demanded a truthful conversation, and Geralt had surprised him by actually obeying, both of them sat around the fire as they spoke late into the night.
It was one of his fondest memories.
“At first,” he continued, tilting his head, “I thought that was just friendship. I’d never had very many friends, beyond Lambert and Eskel.” Geralt paused, humming quietly. “I realize now that what I feel for you isn’t that. Not only that, at least.”
Jaskier’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He slid a hand to his arm and pinched because better safe than sorry, and he had had many dreams just like this, but the sharp pinch did nothing. He was still staring at Geralt.
“I think this is the most I’ve heard you say in,” Jaskier smiled slightly, “well, ever.”
Geralt snorted, and a bit of the tension seemed to bleed out of his shoulders, which had been Jaskier’s goal. He turned toward him, finally, and nodded once, like he was making a decision. “I love you, Jaskier,” he said.
“In, like, a friend way or—?” he began with a teasing quirk to his mouth, but Geralt rolled his eyes and grasped one of his hands firmly. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut.
Geralt’s slow nod was all the confirmation he needed. Leaning in, he gently brushed his lips against the corner of his mouth, because frankly their first kiss was not going to take place when he was sweaty and gross. He had standards.
As if reading his mind, Geralt let out a laugh that seemed to startle even himself. Jaskier grinned as he pulled back.
“Normally you’d confess, and then I’d meet the family, but well,” Jaskier shrugged. “I guess this works just as well.”