Geraskier One-Shot Collection

His Bard

Based off of a word prompt: "I think that's a little more than a cut." Also: I didn't know what to name it, so...

"What happened to you?!" Geralt immediately dropped his swords and rushed over to the bed.

Jaskier was lying down, hands clutched onto his side. Hot tears were streaming down his cheeks, and a groan left his lips  when his hands were removed.

A large, nasty cut was revealed, small but extremely deep. It was gushing blood onto the white sheets the bard laid in, along with small bits of dirt that were mixed in the red. A dagger or sword had caused this, and whoever has wielded it fought dirty.

"It's just a little cut, Geralt," Jaskier breathed. He believed he could stop the bleeding on his own before the Witcher arrived- the last thing he wanted to do was worry him. "I-I'll be fine..." He trailed off and started to close his eyes, the world was becoming blurry.

But he was slapped awake. "I think that's a little more than a cut, Jaskier." Geralt growled. His anger was clear as he applied a cloth to stop the bleeding- he was pressing it hard onto the wound, making the brunette groan in pain. Nobody hurts his bard. Nobody hurts his bard and gets away with it. Nobody hurts his bard and gets away with it alive. "Why the fuck do you have a cut on your side, Jaskier?" He emphasized the word, mocking the bard.

The brunette tilted his head and tried to recall the fight. "I-I suppose it all started at the tavern..."

Twenty minutes earlier...

"A friend of humanity..." The crowd erupted in claps, whistles, and hoots. Of course 'Toss A Coin To Your Witcher' was a crowd pleaser, it earned him coin and it made others happy- well... some people.

That had been Jaskier's final song for the night. A few complained about how he only sang for an hour, but the sun had already set over the horizon, meaning Geralt would most likely be at the inn by now.

"How can ya do that?" The bard stopped walking and turned around. A ginger man around his age was leaning up against the tavern wall, spinning a dagger between his fingers. "Sing praises of that monster when he could snap yer neck at any second?"

Jaskier frowned. "Geralt's not a monster, sir. And he wouldn't do that." He hated when people got like this. The Witcher was in town to help them and they had the balls to say something like that. "Would you rather him not be here and the murders continue?"

It was at this time that Jaskier realized his mouth would get him hurt- not that he didn't know it already. The Witcher had warned him many times about it, but, of course, he should've known better than to say that- the bard didn't know how to shut his mouth.

The ginger stopped spinning the dagger and stood up, holding it closer to his chest. "Ya've got some fucking nerve saying that," he pointed his dagger at Jaskier. "The Witcher's a monster, and yer just a whore following him around."

The bard couldn't move, the accusation was moving to his head. So with that, the man lunged.

"Why didn't you call for me?" Geralt asked angrily. His expression was hard, as if he was trying to hide how he was really feeling- but the bard could see through his amber eyes.

Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment, before letting out a shaky sigh. "I don't know." His answer was honest, he really didn't.

"Hmm..." Geralt moves Jaskier's hand to rest on the wound. "I'll be right back, keep your hands there." Then he left the room.

The Witcher had two objectives now: get some sort of alcohol to clean the wound, then find the bastard who had the nerve to touch his bard.

A ginger man who had been seen near the tavern. Considering the fact that most in this town were brunettes and blondes- the man would be quite easy to find.

"A pint of ale," Geralt demanded to the woman keeping the bar. She looked up, saw his expression, then fumbled around to get one as quickly as possible. Everyone else noticed the change of temperature in the room and grew quiet. "Have you seen a man with ginger hair? He might have left the bar after the bard did?"

The woman bobbed her head up and down while giving Geralt the tankard. "Y-You're looking for M-Michael, he's a-at the last h-house on the right." The Witcher nodded and grumbled a 'thanks' then tossed her a coin.

Geralt knew to be quick about the situation. Jaskier needed his wound cleaned as soon as possible, and dwelling to much on this situation would be a terrible choice.

Michael was outside of his so-called "home" holding a bottle of alcohol and arguing with a young woman.

"Why would you- have you gone mad?!" The woman screamed, smacking the bottle out of the man's hand. "Hurting the Witcher's bard- you have a death sentence!" Ah, so the woman had seen it. Geralt recognized her as the town leaders' daughter. "He's here to help us- not to hurt us, Michael!"

The ginger rolled his eyes. "He's killed people, Marline! How are we to know if he won't kill us too?!"

That was the last straw. Geralt emerged from the dark, his expression was cold and his lips were curved up- like he was snarling. Marline stepped away from Michael as soon as she saw him.

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've done so already," Geralt growled, towering over the ginger. "Though I'm having second thoughts about you, Michael." His tone was venomous, showing how pissed he was.

Michael suddenly felt small- like a sheep facing a wolf. "P-Please d-don't-" he was cut short when Geralt slammed him into the house's wall.

"Don't what? You were going to do the same to my bard," he spat, tightening his grip on the man's neck. "I solved your murders, but if you had killed Jaskier- there was going to be one more body added to the pile." He released Michael when he heard the man's breathing begin to slow. "But he's alive- and I'm not a monster."

He picked up the tankard that had been set on top of a barrel and speed-walked back to the inn. He had spent enough time finding the ginger bastard-

"Jaskier!" The Witcher hurried over to his bard, lightly smacking his face in an attempt to wake him up. "Wake up, dammit!"

The brunette's eyes fluttered open, and the smallest smile came onto his lips. "Ah, Geralt, welcome back." His words were slurred, the loss of blood had gotten to his head. "Is everything supposed to go dark?"

Geralt ignored him and took a clean cloth from his bag, then poured the ale into it. "This is going to sting," he murmured.

And just as he said, when the cloth met his wound, Jaskier hissed, clenching his teeth together in an attempt to not scream. "Fuck, Geralt." Fresh tears started to fall from his eyes.

The Witcher hushed his bard while dabbing the cloth onto the wound. He knew it hurt, he knew the wound was bad, but it was more the reason to clean it now. "It's almost over, Jask..."

Jaskier had closed his eyes again- squeezed shut while he groaned in pain.

"Alright, I'm done." Geralt stood up and kissed the brunette's brow. "Stay still, it needs to breath tonight, then we'll wrap it up tomorrow." A hand caught his wrist before he could go any further.

"Will you... just lay with me? I don't..." Jaskier closed his eyes. "Just lay with me..." it was a distraction, he hoped. Last time he 'fell asleep', he felt the world slipping from his fingers. Focusing on his Witcher instead of the wound on his waist.

Geralt hummed, meaning 'yes'. He put the supplies down on the table then climbed over his bard, taking the side where the cut wasn't visible. Jaskier let out a shaky sigh and leaned onto Geralt, closing his eyes again- this time, knowing that he wouldn't be alone and he would wake up in the real world.