Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (Completed)

Names

Geralt came in and out of consciousness, eyes fluttering behind their lids and occasionally flitting open so that Jaskier caught a brief glimpse of the golden iris's before he moaned and fell back into the abyss. The stranger had introduced himself as Yurga and offered to take them to his home, Jaskier had done his best to be friendly and courteous despite the situation, but all he could think was 'don't fucking die on me you grumpy bastard'.
"You can sit up here you know, it would be more comfortable..." Yurga offered for the 8th time in the past two days. The cart bumped under me and the hard wood sent pain jolting up my back.
"I'd rather stay here if... if you don't mind, I need to keep him awake." Jaskier would wait until Yurga turned his face to the road again and then slip his hand into Geralt's, leaning close to whisper reassurance in his ear. Well, mostly reassurance, sometimes it was a deal more threatening. "You die on me and I'll hang myself and come and annoy you in the fucking afterlife Witcher. Toss a coin to your witcher... On Repeat."
"Hey Bard, give us a song won't you. This is a long road and a long journey." The man was kind enough, but every song in Jaskier's repertoire was about Geralt, or For him and if anything Jaskier needed distracting from the fact he was dying next to him. He was reminded of an old Elven song he'd heard once that was meant to signify healing and saviour. 
"Okay, sure." He took his hand from Geralt, noticing the flinch that went through the Witcher's body when he did so. He picked up the lute discarded at his feet and began to pluck at the strings, hoping he could remember the tune well enough. He let it go on for a while until he was sure he'd gotten it right and then sang along, pitching it low and calming rather than his usual raucous crowd-gathering voice. He watched Geralt's twitching and groaning slow until he almost looked like he was sleeping and prayed it was his song and not a progression of the poison."
"Where'd you hear that one? Elven right?" Jaskier hummed in response and took Geralt's hand again. His mumbles had become more coherent: Ma. Ma where are you?
"Do you know any mages that might be able to work some magic on that bite? Surely following a Witcher has to come with some contacts?"
"I don't follow him. We travel together." Jaskier snapped defensively. He had too much on his plate right now to be dealing with Yurga's judgement too. "And no, none close enough." He thought Vesemir would almost certainly be able to do something, but he was too far-
He made an excited 'OH' sound and leant over Geralt to his leather bag, rummaging until he found the Elixir. He uncorked it with his teeth and poured half down Geralt's throat and then hald onto the wound itself. The Witcher's eyes flew open and he sat up, crying out, ready to swing at Jaskier. The Bard readied for a hit, but Geralt's hand flew to his arm instead, gripping it tight and looking at him in shock.
"It's Ok Geralt, you're going to be ok. I'm here." He cooed, knowing that a fully awake Geralt would not appreciate the sentimentality of it, but a Geralt high on pain would. He nodded sleepily and fell back in the cart, unconscious.
"You seem to know what you're doing with that Witcher medicine..." Yurga said harmlessly. "And you weren't bad with a dagger back at the camp. What kind of Bard are you?"
"One who's adjusted to a dangerous lifestyle." Jaskier remembered Lambert teaching him the blade, Vesemir explaining some basic alchemy and healing, he'd even had Coen try to teach him Signs, but that had been just beyond his skillset. He had however become very adept at cooking.
"How long you been travelling with the Butcher?" He said it with enough of a light hearted tone that Jaskier let it slide this time.
"Um, about 12 years." Jaskier sighed, watching Geralt with the soft smile that came with years of love and memories: good and bad.
Yurga was silent for the rest of the day's journey. He seemed to be contemplating. They made camp by nightfall and while Yurga warmed his hands by the fire, Jaskier leant against a tree, Geralt's head in his lap, his fingers winding through the white strands of his hair, tidying the braid he'd done in the cell. That had seemed a lifetime ago, though it had only been a week.
"I can't help but notice you and the Witcher... you seem close." Yurga said, poking a stick into the flames and catching Jaskier's gaze over the sleeping Witcher. He had gone back to mumbling, names mostly, and the Bard tried not to be annoyed about the names 'Renfri' and 'Visenna'.
"What's your point?" Jaskier bristled. Geralt called his name and he laced their hand's together, muttering 'i'm here grumpy' and glaring at Yurga in defience.
"I see. 12 years makes sense now." Yurga laughed. Jaskier relaxed a little and continued stroking hair out of the Witcher's face, smiling in the firelight. 

It was dark, the sort of dark that was all-encompassing. Visenna had faded away into that darkness and now Geralt was swimming through it with no idea how to wake up. That was when he heard the song: Jaskier's voice was floating through his head, soft and quiet, a song sung in the ancient language of the elves that spoke of healing and safety. He had a vague recollection of hearing it before, feeling the bumps of a cart under his back and the searing pain of poison in his veins. But now the pain in his leg was a dull throb and the song was crisp and clear, and beautiful. He followed it.