Chapter Text
He knew it was a dangerous creature to face on your own. The venom of this specific breed of monster could kill you in a matter of minutes, and was fast. And had eight legs and twenty four eyes. So yeah, Geralt had been a bit worried, so much so that Jaskier had picked up on it, and had followed him.
It was good in a way, because if he was honest, it was true that Geralt wouldn't have made it unscathed without the bard's help. He distracted the beast so that while it was busy trying to get some singer flesh, Geralt could bury a sword in its head. But it wasn't good in the way that Jaskier had been injured, a decent sized round wound there, below his right shoulder blade, shining bright red. Bloody and oozing and just... Ugh so not good.
Jaskier had probably not been injected with the venom, that would be a puncture wound and this was more like.... chafing. But still, when those creatures got attacked they kind of oozed a watered down version of the venom, which meant Jaskier had more time, but if he wasn't healed properly the venom would and could end up stopping his breathing, stopping his heart. Unless something was done.
"We need to close that up."
"...'s just a scratch."
"No, Jaskier..."
Wait, was letting him know that he could die from that small wound going to help Jaskier at all? Wouldn't it be better if he continued thinking it was a scratch?
What would be better is that he wasn't in the risk of dying every other day, you fool of a Witcher, what would be better is for you to look after your.... bard better.
The thing was, what to do now? He had the antidote for the venom, but he'd drunk it himself, preemptively, and now there was none left. It didn't occur to him to leave some for Jaskier, just in case.
No wonder you have only one friend, you idiot. Well, 80% of one if the blue in his fingertips is any indication.
"Geralt... I don't feel... Don't feel good..."
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Something needed to be done, something quick and fast acting. The idea of the all kill iron came to him.... But he had never used it in a human before. And he would need to put it over all of a wound that wasn't small. About the size of a hand palm, which meant the process could be long.
But Jaskier's eyes were drooping. The iron was the only solution that could be used for this particular problem.
It was a small thing, like two metal rings put together, you pressed it against your wound and it was enchanted to kill all kinds of disease makers: molds, venoms, even the magic ones. The iron killed everything except the larger being (a Witcher, usually) but it burned liked hell. And you had to be careful to apply it in all entry points of the cause of the illness, or the thing (venom, in this case) could still spread and kill you.
But... Fuck.
It was usually for puncture wounds, stuff like that. Geralt had never used it in something so big, and a human. A human he cared about.
Play it cool, Geralt. No need to scare the man.
"I'm just... Wounds from this thing are bad. I'm gonna have to cauterize it with this. You'll feel better." Jaskier nodded, trusting. He shouldn't trust Geralt so much, probably.
It was not going to feel better.
When Geralt pressed the iron against the corner of Jaskier's wound, the bard howled, pain spreading to each of his extremities, to every part of his body, his mind drowning in agony.
He was looking at Geralt with betrayal in his blue eyes.
"I'm sorry, but it needs to be done. It hurts now, but it will stop any venom from spreading in your blood."
And now Jaskier was looking at him with puppy eyes and sorrow and just nodding through his tears. Silent.
You had to drink all the antidote, didn't you? Why do you never take Jaskier into account? He's saved your life and now you're torturing him with an iron.
Geralt put the iron next where he'd put it before, he was supposed to circle all the edges of the wound, and then the inside part. Jaskier screamed again. Geralt wanted to do something, but didn't know what.
His experiences with humans in pain were fairly limited. But he hated seeing Jaskier like this, hated the pain he was causing him. Jaskier was the light to his days, he'd brought a lot of good into his life, had been constant and cheerful and sought him out... And how had he reciprocated? With bad looks, hurtful words and now excruciating pain, as a thank you to step in the middle of an attack and save his life.
"Stay still, or it'll take more time."
Geralt.... The man is in agony, say something.... Nice
"If there was another way, with less pain... But there isn't."
There were tears falling down Jaskier's face.
"Do what you must."
Geralt wanted to punch the world, destiny and himself. Repeatedly. Jaskier was no angel, but he was a loyal and faithful friend, and he didn't deserve all the horrors Geralt put him through.
Look at those eyes. Think of the songs. He's done done so much for you...
Another press of the iron. Another scream.
You're fucking hurting him, Geralt. Try to make it right.
"Huh, uh mm.... It will be over soon. You just hold on, yeah?"
Jaskier was biting his lower lip, tears flowing freely.
Geralt would never admit it, but he hated it when the bard went quiet. It was often because he had no strength to talk, because he was hurt, because he was sick, because... Because he was in pain, like now.
And it was up to Geralt to fill the silence and distract from the pain, and God, he didn't know how to that. Another press of the iron. Jaskier was holding to the grass on the floor under him and everything was dreadful. The blue was spreading, nearly to his wrists. Another scream. Fuck.
"When we get back. We can share the coin. And you can rest, I... I can let you have the bed, all to yourself."
And how was it that Jaskier looked even more hurt?
"Or we can share. As you want. You are the... hum... wounded hero."
Yes, almost a smile!
Too bad it won't last long. The lower edge of the wound was even more painful to cauterize, and Jaskier ended up being sick from pain. And Geralt was wondering just how much pain a human body could take and if he was going to make Jaskier's heart stop faster than the venom with his "cure".
Curse every monster, curse all venoms, curse every part of the body that allows pain.
"I'll finish soon, all right? You can ride roach on the way back."
Hopefully just convalescent and not a cadaver.
Jaskier was silent, his face crossed with tears, and sweat, say something encouraging, say something nice....
"I'm sorry to be hurting you like this. You're... You're being very brave."
And this was true. For all his screaming, Jaskier had let him do, hadn't ran away, hadn't shied away. Had taken it. He had faults, yes, but Jaskier was remarkably brave, following a witcher around with no weapons, taking punches, sleeping with spouses of dangerous characters. And he was being brave now, hurting like hell but not squirming, just looking at Geralt with that expression that said, "I trust you".
I'm not sure I deserve this trust. This loyalty. You.
Geralt... He had emotions, but he wasn't exactly good at them. Identifying them, processing them. Now he was feeling an emotion that made him feel a weight in his chest, a lump in his throat. But seeing Jaskier in pain was not making him want to cry. At all.
"Practically finished, Jaskier."
Now came the worst part, where he had to put the iron in the middle of the wound and Jaskier was already too pale, too weak, too worn out... He passed out.
Geralt was happy to do the rest of the process without the screams, but worried at how limp and lifeless the bard was.
The good part was that it was done, quickly, efficiently. The bad part was that Jaskier wasn't waking up.
He took the bard in his arms, maneuvered him on the horse. As they galloped, Geralt spoke, a futile attempt to wake his friend up. Why did words only come easy when you knew the other person couldn't hear you?
"I'm going to make it up to you, you'll see. The most delicious foods, the lushest beds, lavender and mint and anything you want. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I didn't get you antidote. I'm sorry for all of it."
When they got to the inn, Geralt asked for a healer, a bath, fresh clothes... And a poet to commission a song about the very brave bard who rode along Geralt of Rivia.
And when Jaskier woke up...
That was the first thing he heard.
And he smiled.
The pain was gone, but his friend had stayed.