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Geralt had met many different humans in his time, each one different than the other. Most saw him, whispers of his name waking up long-forgotten memories of bedtime stories told by their parents, warning them about the monsters disguised as humans, and fled. A primal fear awakening in them. Some were his equal in their background, the witch hiding from villagers, the doppler running for his life. There was a mutual agreement to stay clear of one another. The last group, the smallest, were those curious about a Witcher.
Not curious about Geralt in particular, for they have never heard of him before, or if they had it just added to the excitement. To those people he was little more than a painting kept behind glass for safekeeping, to keep them away. Something out of reach, until it wasn't. It was quite the brag when a young woman went up to her friends the next day, able to say she had slept with a Witcher. For her, it didn't matter if Geralt would remember her if he had cared about her during their time together. She had gotten what she wanted.
Fair to say Geralt knew how people usually reacted to him. It was predictable, never changing. Until Jaskier stumbled into his life, whirling colors and loud music. A nobody next to the butcher of Blaviken, but he had not cared for a single moment. He had tried to get rid of the bard, acting annoyed, leaving him exposed to the dangers that waited on the path, even resolved to violence. To his misery, the young musician had the self-preservation skills of a newborn deer.
Looking back to the day in the tavern he should have just left, taken Roach, and rode off far away so the human wouldn't have been able to follow him. To Geralt's misery, he didn't. His gaze traveled to where the bard stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest as he read the different contracts on the noticeboard. The way he cocked his head, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. It was a laughable imitation of how the Witcher read contracts.
Four months. It had already been four months. At first, Geralt left Jaskier behind in villages, waiting until he was busy flirting, or composing or doing both at the same time. It had only worked for so long. Quickly the bard had caught on. It had never taken him longer than a few days until he was back at Geralts side. If the Witcher didn't know better he might have thought Jaskier a creature, but as it were the bard seemed to be simply very good at tracking down one particular Witcher
Geralt had once told him to track down a rabbit. No luck. The young bard had been absolutely hopeless, but the moment Geralt was out of eyesight it had taken Jaskier less than ten minutes to find him again. How easier his life would be if Jaskier had the same tracking skills when it came to anything else but him.
"How about this one?" Jaskier pressed one finger onto the contract he had chosen, putting just enough force behind it that his finger bent slightly back, turning red. Geralt pushed the arm away, squinting at the paper in question. The ink was bleached out and washed out around the edges. Clearly, the contract had been hanging here for quite some time already.
From a once over Geralt learned that the contract was posted by the alderman of the village and from the description it sounded like a vampire. The contract talked about villages going missing in the middle of the night, their bodies found sucked dry of all blood. It wasn't the work of a werewolf as the alderman suspected towards the end of his contract.
Geralt sighed, already tired of the contract. Sadly it was the best-paying one on the board. Money was a slow thing in the life of a Witcher. Sure, Geralt had quite the reputation across the continent, especially compared to his brothers, but that did not mean that townspeople loved to throw all they had at him for saving their village. Quite the opposite mostly. It wasn't like the Witcher needed lots of comfort in his life, but a place in an inn or at least a tanker of ale were luxuries he tended to enjoy. Still, he was not going to start relying on the bard's money, especially since he rarely made enough a night to support himself.
Maybe it would be smarter to let Jaskier play and make soup out of the tomatoes and stale bread the people in the inn would throw at him. It definitely would provide a safe way of getting food
Geralt looked back at the contract. 200 crowns. It was more than most villages were willing to offer. In his head, he calculated how much time he would need to prepare. The Witcher's silver sword was sharp and his armor was freshly patched up. There should still be a bottle or two of black blood in his pack. Truly the biggest time factor would be trying to convince the bard with a death wish to stay behind in the village.
Without another word, he ripped the paper off the board, which Jaskier seemed to take as the clue to follow behind him again. For a few steps, it was peacefully quiet. Geralt was leading Roach by the rains since she needed a break from his weight added onto her back. Next to him, Jaskier was fiddling with his lute, still humming that awful melody from his newest song under his breath. The Witcher had hoped that Jaskier would forget all about his awful tune, which he had made up after Geralt had taken care of the so-called devil back in Posada, but to his disappointment, the song was by far the bard's most popular.
Maybe if it wasn't so good at bringing in coins Geralt would complain more, but as it was he simply tuned out the melody and Jaskiers quiet mumbling about tossing coins to Witchers. That was until Jaskier decided that talking to Geralt was way more fun than humming under his breath.
"So," he stretched out the o, "what do you think it is?"
The Witcher decided to not answer at all but reconsidered since the bard would not let go of his question until he was satisfied with an answer. That, of course, did not mean that Geralt had to elaborate. The less the bard knew the easier it would be to convince him to stay back in the inn and play for the townsfolk there.
"Vampire."
For a moment Jaskier looked at him expectingly, like he was sure that Geralt would add to his statement. Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to and turned his eyes back onto the dusty path in front of them just as they passed into the village.
"You know Geralt? I never had a more inspiring person than you to talk to. All your grunting and cursing and short answer. They just make for great songs. Really, if you weren't such a great Witcher I would tell you to reconsider your choice of work, maybe become a poet."
The bard's voice was just dripping with sarcasm and if they hadn't just passed into a village where Geralt was hoping for a job he might have punched him just to shut him up. The people of the village would sadly not be too fond of him if he started beating up what they probably assumed to be his companion.
Instead of giving Jaskier the satisfaction of an answer, not even a grunt, Geralt concentrated on finding the alderman. The inn was easy enough to spot, a house just slightly bigger and wider than the rest of the others, and though it was just early evening people were already drinking and laughing inside.
Finding the alderman on the other hand turned out to be a little trickier since none of the townspeople were willing to point out to Geralt which house was his. Even when he pointed out the contract to show he was not out to harm anyone. He was less than happy when all it took was Jaskier sweetly talking to an elder woman about how beautiful her flowers were for her to spill the location of the alderman. The Witcher was even more annoyed with how smug the bard looked as he passed him.
The man who opened the door to them was leaning on a stick to keep his body upright. Through his thinning hair, the sun shone, turning it seemingly see-through. His eyes were unfocused, looking through Geralt like he wasn't even there. Clearing his throat, Jaskier stepped up next to Geralt.
"We are here for the contract."
Geralt bit back the groan at we. There was no we, but apparently, the bard had not yet learned that. It was mistake enough to let him stay by his side, add a weakness to the Witcher, a place where he was exposed to enemies, but to get personal like they were actual companions, was a line he could not cross.
Maybe it was a little harsh when Geralt pushed Jaskier back, placing himself between the old man and the bard. It simply was the only way to keep him out of his way. He had tried talking, but for all the words that poured out of Jaskier day to day, he was awful at listening to anyone else. With his back turned Geralt could not see the slightly hurt look that crossed the bard's face before regaining his composer,
"Ah, yes, a werewolf I believe. Been leaving corpses all around the village. We would be very thankful if someone took care of it." The old man's voice was raspy, almost uncomfortable.
Geralt hummed under his breath, not about to correct the blind man when he had no clue what he was talking about. People were stubborn and so his explanation would probably fall on deaf ears, wasted time for nothing.
"The pay. Want to make sure I get my amount."
"Ah, a businessman, smart choice. We will pay you half now, half after you have proven the monster slain."
From behind his back, the alderman brought for a pouch with coin, jingling as he laid it into Geralts outstretched hand with surprising accuracy for a blind person. Geralt hummed in agreement, trying not to be too pleased with how easy this contract had gone so far. Something was going to bite him the moment he thought everything to be alright. Over the years the Witcher had to learn that the hard way.
Turning around Geralt trusts the pouch into Jaskiers chest. Confused, the bard kept a tight grip on the small thing, eyes following as Geralt made for the direction of the forest.
"Where are you going? Geralt! Could you stop for a moment-"
The Witcher turned around, white hair catching in the stubble on his chin. Jaskier had to bit back a laugh so as to not insult the threatening gaze Geralt was giving him at the moment. It was almost annoying how little the bard seemed to be worried about what the Witcher was. He loved so easily, so freely. It almost seemed impossible that Geralt ever deserved a person so devoted to him for no reason. He could not let him follow or Geralt was worried he would ruin yet another good thing, another good person.
"Stay back, bard."
They were almost of equal height, still, the Witcher seemed to tower over Jaskier with his squared shoulders and heavy armor. Of course, that did little to impress the bard. Not even a whiff of nervousness radiated off of him. Geralt had to bite back a frustrated groan at the stubborn musician.
Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed at the man in front of him. There was nothing that could stop him from following Geralt on his contract. Where else was he going to get his inspiration from? Definitely not from the Witcher's detailed retelling.
"I'm not some housewife that's going to wait for you back in the inn, you know? I'm totally capable of taking care of myself."
Geralts eyes flashed with tightly held-back anger. Jaskier was like a stray cat, something lost with nowhere to go. Feed it, give it the slightest bit of attention and it will remember. Do it often enough it will come back for more until it sticks, until it won't leave you alone ever again. Maybe Geralt had only himself to blame for this, had given the bard his attention one too many times. He shakes his head, sighing, seeing that fighting would not get him far. Neither would reasoning. If he wanted to see the harsh reality so bad...
"Fine, but stay back. Don't get in my way or the way of danger. Do whatever I tell you, with no hesitation. If I say run you run, got it?" Jaskier nodded his head, a satisfied smile crossing his face. The Witcher held back a groan, surrendering to his fate.
The trip into the nearby forest was a quick thing. The plan was to look around, find any evidence of what kind of vampire he was dealing with then wait until night to kill it. Simple enough, if it wasn't for one very obnoxious bard who kept playing his lute while Geralt tried to concentrate on the surrounding sounds. His self-control for not hurting the bard or his precious instrument was starting to wear thin.
"Jaskier."
At the sound of his name, Jaskier perked up, gazing to where Geralt was kneeling on the muddy ground. The place where the last victim had been killed was easy to find, fresh blood still staining the grass and mud. Placing one hand onto the strings of his lute to stop the vibration, Jaskier cocked his head to one side, waiting for the Witcher to continue.
"Shut up." The annoyed undertone did little to impress the bard, but at least he had finally stopped playing which Geralt took as a win in his book. With no more distractions, he continued his search.
There was no huge mess, no pieces of flesh and blood splatter so quite easily Geralt was able to cross Ekimmara, Fleder, Garkain, and Katakan. None of those would leave a crime scene as neatly as this one was if one considered a blood soaked ground neat. With this conclusion the vampire he was looking for had to be one of higher intelligence. Though not a religious man, Geralt silently prayed that he was not looking for a higher vampire, but something he could actually kill. Not that the other options were any better.
If luck was for once on his side he was either facing a Bruxa or an Alp, just had to figure out which one. Over the treetops the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, turning the tops of some pines in the distance blood red. Behind Geralt, Jaskier had started humming under his breath, tapping a rhythm into the side of his thigh. Clearly, he was bored out of his mind and the Witcher had to bit back a comment about how he was the one who wanted to join.
Geralt thought back to the victims mentioned in the contract. Two women and four men. Not a gender-picky vampire as it seemed, but a Bruxa usually stayed away from villages. From the stories, it is well known that Bruxas prefer to take one person and keep them as a blood source for a longer time. The amount of dead people and the more aggressive killing method all clearly pointed to the vampire being an Alp.
Geralt pushed himself off of the ground, shoulders popping as he stretched out his back. The Alp seemed to come back to this spot a lot, he would need a bait to make sure she would stay clean of the village tonight. His eyes landed on Jaskier, still sitting in the grass, now fiddling with a loose string on his pant leg. If he wanted to join in on the hunt he could make himself useful for once.
"I need your blood, bard."
Startled Jaskier looked up from his distraction, eyes big and round. A deer with a death wish, Geralt thought once again. The bard spluttered something unintelligent before rising from the ground.
"Excuse me? For what do you need my blood? I rather like where it is, in my body-"
"The vampire is an Alp. I want to lure it away from the village tonight, make sure it comes here."
Like a fish out of water, Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times before huffing. Turning his face away from the Witcher he held out the underside of his left arm. The Witcher swallowed around a dry tongue. Rarely were humans trusting enough to turn their back on him, but Jaskier even trusted him to not cut his arm off the moment he turned around. The knowledge did something funny with Geralt's stomach which he had no time to examine further at the moment, the sun rapidly going down.
"Make it quick," Jaskier complained, eyes already squeezed shut, waiting for the impact of pain.
Carefully Gearlt rolled up the sleeve of his doublet, before retrieving a small dagger from his belt. The steal shone with the last few rays of sunlight of the day, catching gold. He needed the smallest drop, just enough to color the air with the smell of iron. The cool steal pressed into fair skin. Jaskier sucked in air through clenched teeth, his other hand gripping tightly into the side of his pants. Small drops of blood collected on the underside of his arm. Quickly Geralt pulled the blade over the arm, leaving behind a thin line of blood, just enough to attrack the Alp.
"Done," He said, turning around to his pack to retrieve his potions and oils. The Witcher did not dare to look at the bard, who was pressing the sleeve of his doublet onto the small cut. If he had he would have caught sight of a small, private smile in his direction. Instead, he concentrated on applying a thin layer of vampire oil on his silver sword. Next to him, Jaskier sank into the grass, taking hold of his bottle of black blood, turning and examining the potion.
"How long will we have to wait?"
Curious. Geralt wanted to scream. After all of this, the bard was still curious about everything the Witcher did. For a moment he wondered if he would still stay by his side when he had seen him under the influence of potions, that maybe all his worries were for nothing. Geralt decided not to fool himself. No matter how loyal Jaskier seemed to be, the moment he saw the Witcher for what he truly was he would pack his things and run in the other direction like everyone else.
"Not long," He grunted out, finishing up his sword. From the corner of his eyes, he watched the bard swirl the black liquid inside the bottle around. The viscous liquid stuck to the glass, turning it a warm gray. Fascinated Jaskier watched as the liquid dropped back into the rest of the potion.
"What is it made of? Has to take hours to make," Jaskier mumbled. He had taken his other hand off his wounded arm, a small blood stain was all that was left on his doublet. The Witcher snatched the potion from the bard's hands, keeping it close. The little outraged noise the other made was pointedly ignored.
"It does. Which is why I don't want it to break."
Jaskier was about to protest when the snap of a twig somewhere behind them had Geralt on his feet and twirling around in seconds, the potion clutched in one hand, his silver sword in the other. From between the trees, a woman stepped out onto their small clearing. A long black cloak covered her up, hiding her in shadows. From the corner of his eye, Geralt made out Jaskier moving to stand next to him.
"Stay back," he growled through gritted teeth, reading his sword. Jaskier gave him an incredulous look.
"It's just a woman-"
"Stay back."
Before the bard could protest again a loud shrike echoed over the clearing, ear-shattering. Scrambling backwards on the grass Jaskier pressed his hands to his ears, flinching at the high sound. Without another thought Geralt took the potion, tunning in on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, mixing with the potion. All senses on high alert. Across the Alp had shrugged off the black cloak, reveling the nightmarish, twisted version of a woman.
Behind him, Jaskier made a gagging noise. With the hand not holding his sword Geralt readied himself to cast Yrden. The Alp let loose another screech, the shock wave pushing Geralt back. With all his strength he placed his feet further apart, holding up against the attack. In the blink of an eye, the vampire jumped, crossing the clearing in seconds. Just before she landed Geralt cast Yrden, purple light illuminating long red hair, and cold gray skin.
The potion in his veins had him feeling on fire. One long-taloned hand came down on him but the Witcher blocked her. Howling in pain the Alp jumped back, weakened as long as she stayed inside the circle of Yrden. Geralt allowed himself a second to breathe, hoping Jaskier had been smart enough to run and get out of the way of danger. There was no time to check as the vampire was back on him, blood-covered talons reaching out for him, making contact with the side of his shoulder, cutting flesh. No pain registered in the Witcher's potion-filled body, but the Alp smelled blood, a new shrike pulling Geralt off his feet.
The creature lurked above him, blood-covered talons twitching to rip out his throat, too wide rip cage heaving. Her yellow eyes glowed with hunger. Geralt sat his jaw, waiting for her to lung. In his adrenaline rush, he had almost completely forgotten about Jaskier, who was hiding behind a thick tree trunk. The Alp readied herself to pounce, just what Geralt had been waiting for when-
"Geralt watch out!"
Distracted by the shout the Witcher missed the Alp by a hair's breadth, the feeling of sharp teeth sinking into the leather of his armor and into the flesh of his shoulder. Geralt wanted to shout back at Jaskier to get out of the way, but before he could the Alp shriked back from him, the potion running through his veins like fresh poison to her. No more time to waste the Witcher got off of the ground, sword tightly clutched in his hands. With one strong swing as the Alp cried out in pain at the poison, Geralt severed her head from her shoulders. Blood splattered onto the ground, covering the Witcher's hair and armor. From the disgusted yelp next to him some even got onto the bard.
The head fell onto the ground with an ugly thump, unliving eyes staring up at the Witcher, filled with hatred. With the fight over Geralt registered the pain in his shoulder, the oversensitivity of his skin with the potion still running its course. Suddenly his armor felt too tight, his head too heavy, his hand too large. Jaskier was next to him in a heartbeat, ripping at his own blood-covered clothing and pressing the fabric onto the Witcher's bleeding shoulder.
In a moment he would look up and look into the pitch black of Geralts eyes under the influence of the potion and he would run. Leave forever. No amount of loyalty or stubbornness could change the lonely fate of the Witcher's path. With that knowledge, Geralt braced himself for dragging himself back to the village, taking care of his wounds alone in a small room in the inn and continuing his travels alone once the sun rose again.
With that in mind, he was quite surprised when he felt a shaky hand on his jaw, carefully turning his head this way and that. Focusing his eyes on Jaskier's face all he saw was relief, no fear, no panic. He blinked, waiting for the change, but it never came. Instead, Jaskier pitched forward, pressing his forehead into the Witcher's armored chest and letting out a relieved sigh which quickly turned into silent laughter, unbelieving laughter.
"You're alive," The bard's voice shook with held back emotions. "For a moment I thought you would- God's Geralt that was terrifying." Jaskier lifted his head again, smiling up at Geralt, blood smeared across his cheek. Geralt swallowed, wondering if Jaskier could see his own reaction in the pitch black of his eyes and how he could not be running with fear by the sight. Instead, the bard pressed his ripped-up doublet a little tighter onto his wounded shoulder. Kneeling in front of the wounded Witcher, dirt covered his fancy clothing, all because Geralt was hurt. The Witcher's head was spinning, overwhelmed by emotions he did what he always did, ruining everything.
He pushed the bard off of him, ignoring the way his vision started to swim when he stood up. Jaskier stayed on the ground, one hand still raised, clutching the bloodied fabric. A flash of hurt crossed his face. Averting his eyes Geralt decided to train his eyes on the decapitated head of the Alp instead of the bard. Clearing his throat Jaskier stood up, dusting his ruined pants off and turning to where Geralt was looking at.
"That's disgusting Geralt. I'm not touching that." He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the Witcher picked up the head with a grunt before making his way towards the village. The whole walk he stayed silent, knowing by the sound of twigs breaking behind him that Jaskier was following close behind. Still there, not leaving. With that thought a weight seemed to lift off of Geralts shoulders, breathing becoming a little easier again. He would not get rid of the bard any time soon and maybe he was just fine with that, as long as the other never knows.