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Geralt limped back towards the inn dragging the head of a Griffin behind him. He couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been scratched on his calf or if it was because he was exhausted. This was the 6th contract he’d taken over the last 7 days and even Witcher’s have their limits when it comes to over-exertion.
The alderman’s house was on the way to the inn so he decided it would be a good idea to drop the head off first and then he could collapse in his and Jaskier’s shared room for a few hours, and with any luck he’d sleep through the bards performance. Monster hunting induced tiredness was a good excuse, right? It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Jaskier’s singing, far from it (not that he’d ever say that out loud), it was the looks he couldn’t stand. Whenever ‘Toss A Coin’ started, all eyes were on him, regardless of where he was sitting, and it made him incredibly uncomfortable.
Upon reaching the alderman’s house, he exchanged the head for half of the promised price, although he was too tired to argue or even shoot a threatening glare towards those who were underpaying him. When he started to make his way towards the inn, the exhaustion really started to hit him. His vision began to blur and he was finding it harder to put one foot in front of the other. Fuck, this was like the djinn all over again. Although preferably without the life or death situation at the end of it.
He stumbled through the door to the inn and heard conversations lull into silence at his presence. He didn’t know what he must look like right now but he knew it couldn’t be pretty. He’d been going non-stop for the past week, he’d not been able to do much more than meditate and squabble with Jaskier in that time, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a bath, much to the bards dismay. He barely looked at the patrons before he was turning and heading up the stairs, putting all of his focus into not falling over. By the time he got to the door of the room, he could feel his eyelids starting to droop. He opened the door and saw Jaskier tuning his lute in preparation for that evenings performance.
The bard looked up with a smile that quickly faded when he saw the state of his Witcher. The last thing Geralt heard before he collapsed was Jaskier shouting his name as he tumbled into his arms and closed his eyes.
-
It took a few tries for Geralt to open his eyes when he woke up. He tried to think of the last thing he remembered. The griffin, the alderman, the inn, the floor. Fuck. He must have been out for hours. He opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings. He was lying in a bed in their room, he was wearing only his light sleepwear and his leg had been bandaged. There was a cloth on his brow that he assumed had been damp when it was placed there.
The next thing he noticed was Jaskiers soft snore from the chair opposite the bed. He spent a moment taking in his companions features. His hair looked greasy, something which he would never normally allow, and he had large bags under his eyes. Had he looked like this when Geralt returned to the inn? After a few minutes of staring, Jaskier began to stir and lifted his head to look at Geralt and his eyes widened when he realised the Witcher was awake. He rushed over to the bed and took Geralt’s hand in his.
“Oh gods, Geralt, thank melitele you’re awake! I thought I’d lost you!” Jaskier kissed his knuckles and looks as though he was about to burst into tears.
“Lost me? What do you mean?” Geralt tried to sit up but was interrupted by a sharp pain in his head.
“Lie down, love. You’ve been asleep for 4 days, you’re bound to be feeling less than perfect.”
“4 days?! Why didn’t you wake me?!”
“Geralt, you’d been doing contracts for a week straight without stopping! You did two in one day! That’s not healthy!”
“Hm. I’m fine. Just need a meal.”
“Don’t give me that bollocks, just because you’re a Witcher doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look after yourself. You can’t keep doing this, you’ll end up dead. You gave yourself a fever forcing yourself to work so hard.”
Geralt was shocked by the passion behind Jaskiers words. He went to respond when the bard interrupted him.
“Geralt, I don’t know what to say to you that I haven’t already said before. You know how I feel about you taking care of yourself. You know how much it will hurt me if you die. And your family too.” Jaskier had stood up by this point, a sign he was about to give Geralt a brutal talking-to. “I know you don’t have much self-preservation and I know you don’t much care whether you live or die, but people around you care. Whether you choose to believe it or not, you’d be missed. You can’t ask me to sit and watch you kill yourself like this, not anymore.”
By this point tears were streaming down Jaskiers face and he was starting to stumble forwards. He dropped to his knees beside Geralt with his head in his hands and whispered so quietly that only a Witcher could hear; “please stay alive Geralt, for me.”
Geralt was touched by his words in a way he’d never felt before. He’d seen Jaskier be passionate about him eating properly and heard him fuss over the state of his hair, but he’d never been the subject of his anger before. Even if that anger was coming from a place of love and care. Before he knew what he was doing he reached out and grabbed one of Jaskier’s wrists.
“I’m sorry, Jaskier. This life doesn’t always give me much choice on when I fight monsters. But...I can try and be better. For you.”
Jaskier looked at him with tear stained cheeks and the ghost of a smile on his face. “For me?” His voice wavered.
“For you.” Geralt confirmed, and he hadn’t felt so sure about anything in a long time.
Jaskier replaced the damp towel on his brow and helped him drink a cup of tea. When he closed his eyes again, he had the first peaceful sleep he could remember having in decades.