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Jaskier is not a stupid man. He knows when he's in the face of death.
And death is staring at him with wide, wild amber eyes, unfocused and scared.
It doesn't happen like it's supposed to go. A hero deserves a hero's tale, Jaskier always thought destiny at least agreed with him in this one point. It turns out she did him dirty again.
It happens over days, weeks, months, a year. Geralt gets injured and Jaskier does his best to help put his insides back inside, helps stitch by stitch to mend his wounds. The ones he can see.
It's the ones he can't see and the ones that Geralt can't feel that mark the end. That might be the worst part, that Jaskier can't do a thing to help.
"It's okay. I'm here."
Geralt gets injured, it's his job to fight and in his nature to protect. A merchant attacked by a griffin on the road, a family threatened by bandits, a child lost in the woods and eaten by wild dogs or necrophages. And Geralt gets hurt and Geralt keeps pressing a hand to his temple, massaging and trying to keep the building pressure behind his eyes at bay. Jaskier cries silently at night, after a long day of walking side by side with Geralt, the witcher's head aching too much when he rides Roach.
"I'm here. With you."
So when they make it to Kaer Morhen Jaskier yells and screams. Because he needs to know. Why sometimes there is blood dripping down Geralt's lips, flowing in a steady stream from his nose, drops hitting the floor until a stained handkerchief catches them with a gentle, trembling hand before they have the chance to fall. Each time he washes it the fabric shifts a bit more to the colour of rust.
"Always. It's okay, Geralt."
'Witcher healing is knitting torn flesh and muscle back together, it can't cure brain damage.'
That's what Vesemir said. When Jaskier screamed at him to tell him what was wrong with Geralt, to tell him why his witcher looked at him as if he didn't know him some days. As if he can't remember his best friend. Why after they got attacked by a basilisk and it threw his companion against a tree, Geralt couldn't see at all for a few long moments, darkness taking over his world.
Jaskier is silent now. Throat sore from hiccuping sobs. His breaths heavy and muscles shaking. His hands clenching another quickly cooling one.
He's staring at death. And death is staring back at him with wide, unseeing eyes. Those amber eyes he fell for so long ago.
"I love you", he whispers, a soundless cry in the silent room, unheard at last.