This is another multi-parter, and is a bit darker than my others, so there will be warnings given on future chapters. Nothing very explicit, but the last thing I want to do is accidentally trigger anyone, so, yeah.
Imagine if Geralt had a really crappy day. A really crappy season, more like.
The problem started with it being a very wet spring. In the three months since he’d made the trek down from Kaer Morhen, he’d spent the majority of his time soaking wet, even with his heavy cloak. The poor weather had made food scarce as well, leading to many hungry nights spent listening to Jaskier complain about being cold until the witcher eventually gave in and they doubled up their bedrolls to keep out the chill and wet.
So when, after two weeks of spending every night under stormy clouds, Geralt finally got a contract at a town with an inn, even the witcher was happy about having a roof and warm bed to come back to. Jaskier, meanwhile, had literally been jumping for joy.
Thus, when Geralt had finally finished off the Leshen that had been terrorizing the town, he had expected to come back to the inn and drink ale, have a warm bowl of stew, and maybe even listen to Jaskier perform for a bit. The bard had been particularly miserable lately about not being able to play his lute for fear of water damage, and while Geralt would never admit it, he’d found himself…missing, the sound.
He had not expected to meet Jaskier on the road leading away from the town, the bard reeking of guilt, sex, and fear. His expression brightened a bit at seeing the witcher, a look which didn’t last when he realized how pissed off Geralt was.
“What did you do.” Geralt growled, tearing Roach’s reins from the bards hands.
Jaskier opened and closed his mouth, the smell of guilt growing stronger.
“I—I didn’t—”
But Jaskier’s explanation, or lack of one rather, was already damning in the witcher’s eyes. Jaw clenched tight enough it hurt his own teeth, Geralt turned sharply and stormed back into the forest he’d come from, mood dropping even more as he realized he likely wouldn’t be able to collect on the contract either now.
Geralt ignored the sound of Jaskier stumbling along behind him, the bard slipping and sliding in the mud his old boots weren’t equipped to handle. The witcher had been planning on using part of his pay to buy the man new boots, but now he’d let the bard fall on his backside until the fool could save up enough to buy his own. Maybe then the idiot would learn to stop chasing after his desires without regard for the consequences, to stop getting them kicked out of towns because the sex-craved fool couldn’t keep it in his pants—
Jaskier finally crashed into the clearing where Geralt was setting up Roach for the night. He didn’t even bother gathering his snares as he looked to the sky, simply grabbing his foraging knife and hoping the rain would hold off long enough for him to find them something to eat for dinner.
Though perhaps, Geralt thought as Jaskier attempted in vain to start a fire, a missed meal would finally teach the bard a lesson.
Not that it had done much good so far this spring, he reflected as he went to leave their camp—
“Geralt, please, I didn’t—”
“Didn’t what, Jaskier? I told you, explicitly, not to get into trouble. And what did you do?!”
Jaskier pursed his lips, face turned to the forest floor.
“Will I even be able to take the head to the alderman tomorrow, or can I expect to be chased out of town for whatever mistake you made?”
Jaskier swallowed, the smell of guilt oozing off of him only increasing.
“It…you shouldn’t…”
“One night, Jaskier! Just one! Twice, in the last two months, you’ve gotten us kicked out of town. You’d think by now you’d understand how important it is to play nice in the ones that tolerate witchers, but here you are, just adding to the list of places I’m not welcome.”
Jaskier flinched, head tilting up enough to show Geralt how much the words had hurt the bard, how upset the other man looked.
Good, Geralt thought, ignoring the small pang of guilt the expression brought him. Maybe this was what he needed to do. To point out, explicitly, how Jaskier’s actions were screwing over Geralt.
But then the bard opened his mouth—
“It’s not—it’s not my fault—
And Geralt snapped.
He’d formed the sign for axii before he even realized it.
“You will do as you were told.” He growled, voice so furious he noted that even Roach shuffled nervously.
Before he could do anything worse, truly hurt the bard for his stupidity, Geralt stormed from the camp.
He swore to himself as he gathered what berries and roots he could find, stewing in his anger as the heavens opened up and a verifiable downpour began. He could be in bed right now, or having a warm bath, or nursing a second cup of ale. But instead he was drenched, with an empty stomach, stuck with Jaskier—
Geralt grimaced, realizing abruptly that the bard wouldn’t be able to put on his cloak or try to take shelter due to the axii still in place. He tried to tell himself it was no less than what Jaskier deserved, but still he found his feet turning back to camp. His hour or so away was enough for his anger to lessen, replaced by guilt over what he’d done.
He never should have axxid Jaskier, no matter how pissed off the bard made him. It wasn’t…such power shouldn’t be used so easily, and to axii Jaskier and then leave him alone was asking for trouble. The odds of a predator showing up in this weather was slim, but…well, it likely wasn’t just the witcher and bard suffering from the lack of prey this spring.
The thought had Geralt walking much faster, and he soon made it back to the clearing, figuring he could apologize by giving Jaskier the bard's share of what he’d found—
He froze at the sight he came back to, mind blanking as he took in what he was seeing.
Jaskier was drenched, hair practically a waterfall as the rain ran down the deep brown strands. Geralt couldn’t see his face, turned to the earth, but that was hardly the witcher’s first concern when he took in the way Jaskier was kneeling on all fours on the ground.
How the bard wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.
Coming to himself abruptly, he stumbled forward, kneeling in front of Jaskier.
“Jask…”
The bard didn’t move, and Geralt could hit himself, wondering how he’d forgotten—
“Lift your head.”
The bard did so immediately, allowing the witcher to take in the man’s red eyes, glazed over from the sign. This close, the rain didn’t block the bard’s scent, and Geralt almost gagged on the shame, pain, fear, fear, fear—
Geralt motioned to drop the axii, and Jaskier moved.
The bard backed up so quickly, the witcher could barely make him out in the darkness and rain. Like a spider, Jaskier shuffled away until he hit a tree at full speed with a solid thunk. Geralt winced, sure the bard had at the very least bruised himself, but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice as he brought his knees to his chest.
And then—then he wrapped his arms tightly around them, rocking back and forth as he whined.
The noise, such a primal sound of agony, made Geralt’s stomach twist painfully. His bard, his pack, shouldn’t be making that sound, shouldn’t smell like that, something was wrong, wrong, wrong and Geralt needed to—he needed to fix this, he needed to—
Jaskier was shivering, and Geralt rushed over to his bag, dropping his belongings on the ground as he searched for—there.
Geralt swiftly pulled out the heavy winter cloak the witcher had stored away a month ago, before approaching Jaskier with more caution. His pack member was scared, cold, hurt, and Geralt needed to show he was a friend, he needed to comfort.
Jaskier whined again when Geralt was a foot or two from the bard, and the witcher froze, a low rumbling noise coming from his chest that was barely audible over the rain. The sound seemed to stir Jaskier from his stupor, as the bard finally looked up at Geralt.
“G-Geralt? I don’t…what…”
The bard gave a full-body shiver, and keened—
No longer able to wait, he quickly bridged the distance, wrapping his small, defenseless pack member up in the cloak, pulling the bundle to his chest. He clung tighter to the wriggling mass, rumbles growing louder as he scented the head that popped out from the fabric, focusing on pushing away the smell of terror and pain.
But his pack member wouldn’t stop moving, and he would hurt himself, so he grumbled low in his chest, expressing his disapproval. And the other had stopped moving, but now the smell of worry was there, which he did not like—
“G-Geralt? C-can you h-hear me?”
He rumbled louder for a moment, hoping the sound would soothe away the bitter scent.
And then the mass grumbled, and he remembered the fruit and roots he’d scavenged, offering them up to the head tucked under his own. It took him nudging the other’s mouth, and another loud grumble, but finally his pack mate was eating the food. The rumbling sound grew even louder at the knowledge that the scared pack member was safe, warm, fed, and he basked in the scent of contentment coming from the other.
He nuzzled his pack member's hair as he yawned, covering him more fully with his body to protect him from the rain as his breathing slowed. It wasn’t long before his pack mate was slumbering, and he closed his eyes, resting lightly enough he would hear if any predator came their way.
