Work Text:
Like all things with Geralt, Jaskier had to learn what and what not to do through try, try, and try again. Geralt, the faux emotionless bastard, had decided that he would not tell Jaskier if his injuries were serious or not. It made Jaskier feel very, very insecure and small. Not because he was afraid that the creature wouldn’t be slain, but because Jaskier was always wondering how far Geralt would push himself before succumbing to a wound.
That was how Jaskier found himself pulling Geralt out of a putrid-looking lake. Drowners were amongst them, but all thoroughly dead. Usually, Geralt had no problems against Drowners, but it seemed that this particular nest was too full and large. Geralt was ganged up on. He fought and fought, but it seemed that something had terribly gone wrong.
Jaskier stared as Geralt’s black tunic turned darker around his abdomen. Jaskier was no healer, but he was sure that a minor injury wasn’t supposed to be bleeding out so quickly. He took a deep breath in order to drag Geralt to Roach. The mare neighed at Geralt’s sight. Jaskier wished he knew what to do.
He tried tapping Geralt’s cheek, but the man didn’t wake. Jaskier tried shaking the witcher, as well. He yelled, begged, and even whispered for the man to wake up in a plea. None of it was working despite the bard’s best efforts. So, Jaskier did what any sane person did, and lifted up the witcher’s shirt.
Across Geralt’s torso was a nasty-looking claw mark. It was gnarly and full of off-green slime that the Drowners bathed in. Jaskier took his water skin and poured it over the wound. The slime and blood washed away, so Jaskier turned to Roach. Surely Roach would know what to do. The mare stared all beady-eyed at Jaskier and Geralt.
“Hey, do you know what to do?” he asked in a small voice. Roach didn’t reply – of course she didn’t – because she was a horse. “Alright.” Jaskier stood up in an attempt to not panic. “What would Geralt do?”
Jaskier tried to recall past incidents and hunts. Geralt would get injured, sure, but Jaskier was always guided in what to do because Geralt was awake. Now, Jaskier stood in the twilight with fear that he hadn’t felt since he began traveling with Geralt again in the spring. He took a shaky breath and reached into Roach’s saddlebag.
The potions were kept in bottles that looked quite breakable, yet they seemed sturdy in Jaskier’s hand. He held them up to the sky in hopes that what remaining light was left would guide him to the right formula. The potions were just as oddly colored as the bard remembered. They were bright, dark, and speckled.
Jaskier focused on a memory of when Geralt got bitten by a Fleder, a small class vampire that probably wouldn’t have gotten to Geralt if Jaskier wasn’t sidetracking him. In his memory, Geralt washed the bite wound out and poured a light blue potion on it before drinking some of it as well. Jaskier dug around the saddlebag and tore out the potion closest to his memory.
The bard dropped to his knees with the potion in hand. He took the cork off to reveal an acidic smell that burnt off all of his nose hair. Jaskier tried one last time to wake the witcher up by slapping Geralt and saying his name. Still, the witcher didn’t move.
In a quick, reflexive moment, Jaskier tilted the potion bottle. The blue liquid poured all over Geralt’s wound. It didn’t appear to agitate the witcher, so Jaskier counted that as a win. Then Jaskier turned his focus to Geralt’s mouth. He didn’t want to drown his friend but he also thought back to one of his classes where a professor stated something about the natural body’s reaction would be to swallow.
Hesitantly, Jaskier put the glass to Geralt’s lips. He lifted the bottle up. The blue liquid fell into Geralt’s mouth and down his throat. Jaskier let out a sigh of relief that it was done– that it at least went into the witcher’s system. With that, he laid back. The twilight sky was a beauty to admire. He pretended for just a moment that nothing was wrong as he counted off the stars in his head.
Then, he sat back up. He noticed that Roach had calmed down. Jaskier felt his chest grow warmer with the knowledge that Roach trusted him. He stood up, his legs slightly wobbly, and patted her head soothingly. His hand had traveled to her mane when he heard a familiar groan.
Jaskier peered down to see Geralt’s face twitching. He gleefully stood above the witcher. “Geralt! You’re up.”
The White Wolf narrowed his golden eyes. He reassessed his surroundings to determine what happened. Eventually, he grounded out, “Jaskier.”
“Yes, dear?”
“What did you do?”
Jaskier tried not to flinch. He knew Geralt wasn’t upset– not really. That was Geralt’s worried tone which sounded angry because there was a part of the witcher that wished that Jaskier didn’t always end up running after him during dangerous times.
“Oh. Uhm, you defeated the Drowners so I fetched your body.” He put his hands on his hips as Geralt continued to stare up at him. “Honestly, Geralt, you can’t take a nap in a lake. That’s not good for business. What will you do if a future alderman notices you floating around and having a grand ol’ time, hmm?”
Geralt didn’t reply. He inspected his wound, his nose twitching sporadically. “Swallow,” he muttered.
“Ah, yes. You did swallow a potion. I do hope it was the right one, as I guessed what it was.” Jaskier deflated for a moment. “I did use the correct one, yes?”
Geralt heaved himself up, using the nearby tree and Jaskier’s shoulder to keep balance. He met the bard’s gaze. “Swallow, that’s the potion you gave me. It heals wounds quicker for Witchers.” His eyes crinkled. “You didn’t drink or touch the potion.” It was a statement, though Jaskier dutifully nodded his head. “Good. It would kill you.”
“Uh, what?”
Geralt started to walk away. He pulled Roach along. It wasn’t a long walk back in town and he didn’t feel like getting on and off of his mare. Roach didn’t seem bothered by the idea of not carrying the witcher around, at least.
Jaskier continued to trail next to Geralt. “What do you mean by ‘it would kill me,’ Geralt? Surely you are exaggerating. You don’t look the type, but I know that deep down you’re a mischievous bastard–”
“My potions are deadly to those that aren’t witchers. Some non-human species could take it, but the effects would differ.”
“Oh.” Jaskier tilted his head as they walked down the road. “What about that salve you’re always using on me? Is it deadly or–”
“That’s for humans.”
Jaskier stopped. Geralt stopped after a few beats of the bard not walking. He turned to see Jaskier’s face looking incredibly vulnerable, a happy-giddy-proud-loving smell wafting off of him.
“Ge–Geralt, you care. Sweet Melitele, you care!” Jaskier ran and lunged to hug Geralt. The witcher stood, limping down the road as Jaskier hung off of him with one of his arms around his neck and the other attempting to squeeze Geralt’s waist. “You like me,” he said sing-songy.
“Hmm.”
Jaksier’s grin widened. He walked with his hands out and moving, as if conducting an orchestra. “You like me! You can’t take it back, dear Witcher. The whole wide world shall know that Geralt of Rivia, a wolf without a heart, cares for his darling bard.”
They soon arrived back in town. Roach, a horse unridden but carrying life-saving potions, Jaskier who looked so incredibly cheerful, and Geralt, a witcher that moved at a slow, creeping pace. Geralt noticed the odd looks the townspeople gave the trio, but Jaskier didn’t notice. He chittered away talking about making a sonnet called Piper Called the Wolf, which was obviously about them.
They settled back into their room at the inn. Jaskier remarked that he would order a bath, but Geralt interfered. Jaskier gave the witcher a confused look.
“Why shouldn’t you bathe? You’ve just fought for your life against a necrophage. You need to get all of the grime off so it doesn’t get infected.”
Geralt sighed. He spoke, “Jaskier, I’m not done with the contract.”
“What do you mean? That nest was larger than the alderman said it would be–”
“There was another nest that laid undisturbed further into the lake. I was lucky they didn’t start back up. I’ll go back tonight.”
“I– Geralt, you can’t fight again. Your wound was large and you were unconscious–”
“Jaskier,” he heaved. Geralt felt bad when Jaskier’s shoulder deflated and worry consumed the witcher’s nostril. “You’ll stay here at the inn– there’s no reason for you to be concerned. I’ll be back before you’re awake.”
Jaskier stuttered out, “You think I’m going to allow you to go out there alone–”
“Jaskier,” he said, voice loud and gruff. The bard faltered. He repeated, softer, “Jaskier, it’s not safe. There are too many things that could go wrong.”
Jaskier’s eyes twitched. Geralt knew he had won, though, because the bard sat down. He picked up his lute and strummed a few familiar songs quietly– it was a false sense of security. Geralt relaxed and recovered for an hour before leaving the inn. Jaskier waited for a couple of minutes before following. He kept quiet as he jogged around. He did not trust Geralt to not get injured, as lately the man had been running into fights without a second thought.
Jaskier reached the lake, the splashing drawing his attention. He eyed Roach, who was eating grass. The bard sucked in a breath as he heard the splashing get louder. Roach continued to be calm, so Jaskier took some of her courage and calmed himself. He needed to be rational if he was going to try to help when he could barely see anything.
He found himself on the shore of the lake. The splashing was louder and more verbally assaulting. Jaskier wanted to call out for the witcher, but didn’t– he was afraid that if he distracted Geralt that something unspeakable would happen.
Jaskier waited by the shore until the splashing ended. Then, a sulky figure moved through the shallow water. The bard happily waited for Geralt. The witcher had his face down, which was odd. Usually Geralt was gearing up for speaking to Jaskier using his facial expression. Jaskier somehow felt like he was in trouble. If Geralt wouldn’t even look at him, what did that mean? Did Jaskier need to leave?
“Ger– Geralt, are you okay?” Jaskier kept his voice timid, afraid to do something stupid like making the witcher even more upset with him.
Geralt kept his face down as he tugged Roach along. Jaskier followed diligently but made sure to keep a few extra steps back than he usually did. They made it to the road. Jaskier paused when Geralt did. The witcher simply brushed Roach’s ears and along her cheek. Then, slowly, the bard got closer.
When Jaskier went to open his mouth, he was stopped by Geralt. The witcher said, “Stay there.” Jaskier froze. He was still behind Geralt. His heart tugged with feelings he was afraid to acknowledge. “Just… stay there.”
Jaskier wanted to listen, he really did, because Geralt sounded so broken. It was a tone Geralt never used before in Jaskier’s presence. It was because of that emotion-filled tone that Jaskier knew he couldn’t listen to Geralt. He jumped forward. Geralt, on instinct, turned around and caught the bard.
Jaskier looked up to see Geralt’s pale face, his white hair, and eyes the color of a midnight sky where no stars appeared. Oh. So that’s why Geralt didn’t want to look at him. It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, not this time. Geralt’s face cringed when he locked eyes with the bard. He let the human go and prepared to trot away while being called a monster.
He didn’t get far. Jaskier reached out, using all of his force to turn Geralt back to him. The witcher stayed, but his feet were turned to Roach for a quick getaway. Geralt knew it made him a coward, but he hadn’t used any Cat Potions around Jaskier for a reason. He, and witchers alike, didn’t need more reasons to be called a monster.
“Geralt, dear,” said Jaskier, his voice breathy yet resilient and firm, “are you okay? Can I help you with something?”
“I…” Geralt didn’t know what a bard could help with. He usually waited it out alone, or he powered through it all before the fight ended. The potion would last a while longer, and he was just now getting a reputation that he wasn’t some crazed, mad, murdering witcher. “Stay here with me,” he spoke.
“Alright,” agreed the bard.
Geralt sat down against a tree. His heightened senses due to the potion made him almost nauseous now that he didn’t have a focus. Roach’s heartbeat was steady, the town’s people were mostly asleep except for a select few, and the lake only sounded of crickets and frogs. He closed his eyes, settling into the dark as much as he could.
And then… and then he heard Jaskier. The bard sat down next to him, his scent sweet but not too overwhelming. He wore something lighter now, as if the bard realized his old oils and perfumes were too strong for a person with heightened senses. Geralt couldn’t help but focus on his friend.
“Jaskier,” he breathed out.
The bard’s heartbeat skipped, as if he was surprised. “Yes, darling?”
“Thanks.”
Geralt listened to Jaskier’s heart keep pace as his senses dulled back down and the potion slowly wore away. It was an odd thing to focus on as an anchor, yet it worked.