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“Geralt, is Eskel okay?” He couldn't help but note the strange looks the man had shot him upon his return. How tense he had been. It set off alarm bells in his head, even if he couldn’t figure out what was wrong.
“He’ll be fine,” Geralt said from his place in the steaming water. Jaskier did love how he was now allowed to take care of his witcher in all the ways he wanted. He ran his fingers through the silken white strands, gently untangling knots from it as he went. But even with his witchers contented rumble he couldn’t help but think of Eskel and how stiffly he had held himself.
"But he's not okay now? Was he hurt?" It shouldn't have been a difficult hunt considering there were two of them… Jaskier had watched Geralt take on a Forktail without potions all on his own, this should have been a breeze. Even on the easiest hunts things could go wrong though, Geralt didn’t seem worried was the thing. He was sure that if Eskel were hurt then Geralt wouldn’t be relaxing in a tub no matter how insistent Jaskier had been.
“No.”
He could have rolled his eyes at the short answer but it was an actual word instead of grunts. Progress is progress no matter how small. It was not so long ago that just that one word was more than he would get in a whole day.
“Well then what is it?” He tugged gently at a strand of hair, trying to pry more words from his tight-lipped witcher, some days it worked some days it didn’t.
The sigh that Geralt let out sent a swirling eddy of steam through the air before he finally answered, “He's afraid of you.”
“What did I do? How is he afraid of me ? I am, quite possibly, the least threatening person. I couldn't hope to-”
“He's afraid he’s going to scare you,” With that declaration the man slipped under the water under the guise of scrubbing out his hair but Jaskier knew it was really more to say he was done speaking for the moment. He let the man escape the conversation, he had other things to be doing.
“… Well that's just ridiculous! I’m going to talk to him.”
“What?” Geralt jerked up from under the water to look at him, sloshing bath water over the side with the sudden movement, “Wait, Jaskier no!”
Against Geralt’s protests Jaskier left him in the bath and marched straight back down stairs. He wasn’t followed -- as he knew he wouldn’t be, it would take more than this to pull Geralt from a tub of hot bath water. He would never tell his witcher just how predictable he was.
He found Eskel sitting at the kitchen table next to Lambert and Vesemir. Still in his filthy clothes, still dripping as the snow melted off of his boots and hair. He wasn’t even surprised really, witchers seemingly had no idea how to be kind to themselves -- but that was what he was for, wasn’t it? Teaching them how to actually accept comforts and kindness.
At least they had given him something to eat.
“And just what do you think you're doing?” He asked, feeling exactly like his mother in that moment, right down to the hands firmly planted on his hips. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that though.
He watched the younger witchers freeze like startled rabbits. If it weren't so exasperating it'd be hilarious how Lamberts eyes darted from Eskel to Jaskier's faces, trying to decide if there was anything he could do about this situation. Vesemir nodded in greeting but Jaskier thought he might be just as scared as the other two and he was just better at hiding it.
Eskel's head ducked down in a move Jaskier now knew was trying to hide the black veins that ran down his face. It didn't work, not that Jaskier cared. Those damn potions could turn the witchers orange and give them horns and he wouldn’t give a single fuck.
“Well?” He was tempted to tap his foot against the flagstone for extra emphasis, ignoring the flashback to an unimpressed mother and the sense of dread it left in the pit of his stomach every time he fucked up and knew he would have to face her.
“Not doing anything,” The ‘big scary’ witcher mumbled to the wooden tabletop.
“I can see that. The real question is why ?” They had a sort of staring contest for a moment before Jaskier sighed, letting his hands fall away and his shoulders relax “Take your boots off then go upstairs and get undressed. Lambert, get another tub ready, would you?”
The squawk of protest was short-lived -- he hopped right up after that and ran off to do Jaskier’s bidding when the bard glared in his general direction. Honestly compared to Geralt these two were absolute pushovers, and by the end of winter he would have all three of the other witchers wrapped around his little finger. Then they would finally all get the tender care they all so deeply wished for but would never admit to wanting.