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Most days Jaskier loves travelling with Geralt. It’s not always glamorous, alright it’s rarely ever glamorous, but he gets to travel to so many places, meet new people all the time and most importantly, he’s with Geralt.
Over the past few years they had grown closer, spending most of the year travelling together, only to part for the winter when Geralt went to his secret mountain hide away, and Jaskier went and played at court or stayed in Oxenfurt to lecture, or take a class if something caught his fancy.
He had suffered his fair share of injuries on the road, thankfully nothing life threatening, and he’d patched Geralt up more times than he cared to think about if he’s completely honest.
So he was not amused when Geralt laughed at his current predicament.
They were travelling through Redania, it was mid summer and there was a heat wave causing temperatures to soar with no relief even in the middle of the night. They were both hot, tired and a little grumpy. Jaskier had been trading barbs with Geralt all morning about anything and everything, not that the Witcher typically responded to said barbs with more than a grunt or a muttered ‘shut up Jaskier it’s too hot for your shit’. Regardless, Jaskier was hot, he was sweaty and he was in a bad mood.
And that was when it happened.
He tripped over a fucking rock in the path, fell arse over teakettle and landed on his ankle with a sickening pop.
Geralt had laughed.
It had only lasted a moment, but he had laughed nonetheless.
Jaskier was embarrassed, in pain and mad as hell.
“Oh is that funny then Geralt?” he spat at the Witcher who by now had stopped laughing and was moving towards Jaskier, hand outstretched as if to help him back up.
Geralt still had a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry Jaskier, but you did look pretty ridiculous. Come on, up you get,” Geralt had closed the distance and grabbed Jaskier’s hand.
Still fuming and, now that he thought about it, in pain, Jaskier pulled away and crossed his arms, staring down at the dirt road.
Geralt sighed and tried again. “I said I’m sorry Jaskier. Let me help you,” he implored, looking suitably chagrined.
Jaskier rolled his eyes and finally uncrossed his arms, letting Geralt haul him upright. The moment Jaskier was on his feet he paled, leg giving out beneath him and he would have fallen except for Geralt’s quick reflexes.
“Jaskier?” Geralt asked worriedly, helping lower the bard back to the ground.
Jaskier was panting for breath, features tight with pain as he curled in on himself clutching his ankle. Geralt knelt beside him, coaching him to slow his breathing, until finally Jaskier was able to uncurl and look up at the witcher.
“My ankle, Geralt, fuck, something isn’t right,” he flopped back onto the ground, tears beginning to run down the side of his face.
Geralt worked Jaskier’s boot off his injured foot and the bard hissed out a pained breath.
“I need to check you haven’t broken it,” Geralt explained, keeping his touch as light as possible.
Jaskier just nodded from where he lay on the ground, trying to relax and let Geralt work.
After what felt like an age of prodding Geralt pulled his hands away.
“So the good news is nothing is broken-”
“What’s the bad news Geralt, tell me the bad news!” Jaskier interjected, cutting the Witcher off.
“As I was saying, the bad news is I’m pretty sure you’ve torn ligaments in your ankle, which is usually pretty painful and slow to heal. You won’t be walking anywhere for awhile Jaskier.”
At Geralt’s words Jaskier began to panic. If he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t travel with Geralt. They still had months before it was time for them to part for the winter season, he wasn’t ready, he had nowhere to stay. His breathing sped up and within moments he was gasping for breath, hardly aware of his surroundings.
He didn’t know how long he spent like that, feeling like he was drowning, unable to breathe, unable to focus on anything but the pain and the thought that Geralt would have to leave him behind like some poor horse that had gone lame. It felt like the world was collapsing around him.
Finally through the haze he heard Geralt talking to him, telling him to breathe, to look at him. He blinked at Geralt, the Witcher looking rather blurry through his tears.
“Come on Jaskier, breathe in and out slowly now. Follow my breaths Jask. You’ll be alright,” Geralt was repeating, voice calm as he rubbed his hands along Jaskier’s arms.
For a moment Jaskier had the thought that Geralt was treating him like a spooked horse and he managed to gasp out a slightly hysterical laugh. This only caused Geralt to look even more alarmed and redouble his efforts to calm the bard down.
After what felt like an eternity, but had probably only been a few minutes at the most, Jaskier finally calmed down enough to speak.
“You know I’m not a horse right,” he said, voice strained and breathing still a little unsteady.
Geralt looked sheepish for only a moment before he rolled his eyes.
“Feeling better?” Geralt finally asked after a few moments of silence, Jaskier’s breathing finally returning to normal.
“I suppose. I’m sorry,” Jaskier replied quietly, looking down at his hands, twisting one of his rings around his finger.
Geralt reached out and wrapped his own hand around the bard’s nervously fidgeting one. Finally Jaskier stilled and looked back up at Geralt.
“Jaskier you’re never one to be silent. Please tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Jaskier shifted under the Witcher’s gaze, shifting around until he jostled his injured leg too much and cried out in pained surprise. At Geralt’s worried stare Jaskier finally caved.
“I just…I don’t want you to leave me behind,” he said softly, breaking eye contact as soon as he was done.
Geralt moved closer, placing a finger beneath Jaskier’s chin and coaxing his head up so he could look into bright blue eyes once more.
“Jaskier. Haven’t you worked out yet that I would never, could never leave you behind. Not if you didn’t want to be left. You’re hurting right now but we can make this work. You can ride Roach, we’ll get you checked out at a healer and get you back on your feet all in good time. I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt explained as he shifted to sit beside Jaskier, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
Jaskier leaned into the touch and lay his head on Geralt’s shoulder.
“Promise?” the bard asked, not moving away.
“I promise Jaskier.”
“I’ll hold you to that you know,” Jaskier said, closing his eyes.
“Good,” came the reply before Geralt dropped a kiss to Jaskier’s head.