A/N: okay so the title is from outsiders by au/ra and it doesn't quite fit but i spent 2 hours writing this and 2 DAYS struggling with a title so it'll have to do

we might be the outsiders (but the in-crowd is so out right now)

"I'm so ready for a bath, aren't you?" Jaskier asks pointedly as he and Geralt return from ridding yet another town of yet another monster.

"Of course you are, you smell like the inside of a dead man's liver," Jaskier continues as Geralt sighs, almost entirely unbothered by the blood covering his clothes - he doesn't think he smells much like a liver at all.

But at least Jaskier hadn't used one of his more creative comparisons, those were usually reserved for swamp-dwelling creatures. Not that Jaskier was often accurate about where to find what in his ballads.

"What was this one called again? A nightwraith?"

At that, Geralt glances at him with a frown. "Does it look like night to you?"

Where most men would shrink away, Jaskier just grins and waves a hand. "Alright, alright, a noonwraith then. At least I got the wraith part right."

Before Geralt can say anything else regarding Jaskier's fluctuating knowledge of monsters, Jaskier gasps and all but sprints ahead, then stops and turns to Geralt with a wide smile, something bright in his eyes forcing Geralt to offer him a small smile in return.

"Do you see that, Geralt? The town! No more crops and fields and corpses, we can finally wash away the wraith business!"

"Hmm."

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Well, I'm going ahead and ordering us a bath, don't dawdle!"

As if Geralt would be seen dead dawdling.

Roach is tired and slower than usual though, so he hangs back and walks with her as Jaskier speeds up and makes a beeline for the nearest inn, the smell of honey and lavender fading as Geralt watches him go.

It's strange, Geralt takes a moment to think, how Jaskier had so quickly made it clear he was sticking around, and how Geralt had almost just as quickly come to accept it. What's even stranger is how much Geralt finds himself liking it.

The town, as it turns out, is still just as friendly as when they'd begged him to save their farmers, which is to say it's quite possibly the furthest thing from friendly to currently exist.

Geralt sighs as he leads Roach to the stables closest where he can smell Jaskier, tying her to a post himself and glaring at the stableboy who has the nerve to cross his arms. "Touch her and you lose those arms."

Sure that nobody will bother Roach, Geralt heads towards the inn, where Jaskier is still talking to the innkeeper. Well, talking at the innkeeper. Actually, it can't even be called talking.

"-and it's utterly ridiculous that you would so heartlessly deny the man who just saved your harvest the right to a bath! A simple bath! What kind of establishment is this anyway?"

"We don't deal with his kind," the innkeeper all but hisses.

From his tone, Geralt guesses that their conversation, if it can even be called that, has been going on for a while in the same way, with Jaskier being his usual dramatic and defensive self.

Jaskier places his hands on his hips and Geralt can imagine his glare as he inhales sharply. "You, sir, are an absolute disgrace ! How dare you plead with a witcher to come to your aid at a moment's notice and then act as if you're any better than him!"

"I don't need to act, we are better than him."

The small smile that had started to form on Geralt's face at Jaskier's words fades as said bard abruptly launches himself at the innkeeper.

Geralt can hear his nose break.

The inn is frozen as the two men topple to the floor behind the counter Jaskier had thrown himself over. That is, until the innkeeper curses and barks an order that causes commotion in the form of other men diving to pull Jaskier back.

Geralt doesn't move until Jaskier is hauled upright by the bruising grip of a man double his size. Only then does he move from the doorframe, ignoring the shocked stares and glares thrown his way, focusing on Jaskier and the way he looks ready to both cry and break someone's teeth.

Geralt can't blame him, really; he's tempted to break the hand on Jaskier's arm.

"Jaskier!"

Jaskier's head snaps to him immediately, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he looks over Geralt as if checking he's unhurt, as if there's any reason for Geralt's wellbeing to be his priority despite his current situation.

"Take your scum and leave, beast," the man holding Jaskier snarls, throwing Jaskier forwards so roughly that he stumbles.

Geralt instinctively moves to steady him but he's wholly unprepared for Jaskier to let out a quiet growl, turn on the spot, and launch a tightly clenched fist at the other man's nose before anyone can blink.

"He is not a beast !"

And thus, a second nose ends up broken.

"You little-"

Geralt pulls and keeps Jaskier behind him before the other man can retaliate, pushing him aside as he turns to the innkeeper with a glare so powerful it causes the man to step back twice.

He's glad Jaskier had managed to break bones because if he hadn't, Geralt would have broken every single one of everyone's bones for daring to call Jaskier scum as if he isn't the exact opposite, as if he isn't the most precious man in all of existence.

"If I ever hear you or any of your men even thinking about insulting Jaskier again, I will rip your tongues from your mouths and feed them to you as your last meals in this world."

And with that, Geralt grabs Jaskier's wrist as gently as he can and leads the two of them out of the inn, back to where Roach is waiting patiently.

"We're leaving, you can forget about your bath," Geralt mutters as he unties the ropes, even though he knows Jaskier didn't really want the bath for himself anyway.

He's beyond angry that they have to leave yet another town in such a way but Jaskier is the one who's slowly changing people's opinions and there's very little he can do to protect his bard from the reactions of those yet to accept witchers. Unfortunately for Jaskier, most people have yet to accept witchers.

Geralt isn't so blind as to say that Jaskier isn't changing opinions, but even his charm can't work on everyone. Not yet anyway.

When Jaskier doesn't reply, Geralt turns to him in concern.

Jaskier's seething fury seems to have washed away into a sour sadness.

"Jaskier?"

But Jaskier only shakes his head, gesturing for Geralt to start walking, which he does. They don't stop until they're past the gates and far enough along the path for the town to have vanished from view entirely.

Only then does Jaskier stop and fall to his knees, letting his head fall into his hands.

Alarmed, Geralt kneels beside him. "Jaskier? Are you hurt? I don't smell blood but-"

"They called you a beast!" Jaskier just about whispers, and Geralt realises with a jolt that the salt he's been smelling is Jaskier's tears , not remnants of spilled ale.

"It doesn't matter," Geralt says, wishing he knew more about how to help because all he wants to do is kill the men who'd made Jaskier cry.

Jaskier lets out a choked noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. "Of course it doesn't! They're all nothing but idiots who wouldn't know how to recognise a good man if he punched them in the face!"

Geralt blinks. "Then why-"

"I swear to Meletite, if you ask me why I care that they insulted you, I will punch you too."

Geralt blinks again.

Eventually, Jaskier looks up and exhales loudly, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "Do you really not understand why I'm so angry?"

Reluctantly, feeling as though he's somehow disappointing Jaskier, Geralt shakes his head.

He doesn't have time to figure out an excuse before Jaskier lunges at him, not to punch him as he'd said but to wrap his arms around him and hug him.

"Oh, you beautiful fool of a man, why don't you see ?" Jaskier asks in a tone that suggests he's about to answer that himself.

Geralt makes sure the two of them aren't about to overbalance as Jaskier tightens his grip, his previous concerns about the liver-scented blood seemingly forgotten in favour of erasing any distance between them.

"Don't you see that people like them only continue to prove that they are never going to be even half as good of a man as you are? That you, dear witcher, are truly kind at heart, so far from the monster they claim you to be? Don't you see that it hurts when they insult you because I know you and I know they are so very wrong? Because you, Geralt of Rivia, deserve everything they do and so, so much more? Oh, my darling wolf, why don't you see all of this with those gorgeously enhanced eyes of yours? Why…?"

Yet again, Geralt just blinks.

When he doesn't say anything else, Geralt lifts his arms from where he'd been using them to balance and wraps them around Jaskier, something fluttering in his chest when Jaskier sighs softly, happily.

He thinks he might prefer this to inns anyway, when it's just the two of them away from the crowds and the chaos, where he can hear the comforting reminder of Jaskier's heartbeat with no interruptions.

"I don't particularly care what they think," Geralt admits eventually, "but I do find myself caring what you think, so... if you wish for me to believe you, I'll try."

Jaskier lets out a small laugh that may or may not be a sob in disguise but Geralt doesn't comment on it. He lets Jaskier pull back so they're face to face, surprised when he sees Jaskier beaming up at him through his tears.

"Promise me you'll keep trying to believe me?"

Geralt isn't a huge fan of commitments but this one is the easiest he knows.

"I promise."

The shine in Jaskier's eyes is worth all the trouble this promise will probably cause him.

Jaskier is worth the trouble.

"Thank you," Jaskier murmurs with a grateful smile.

Geralt hums, his hand going to brush away Jaskier's tears before he can stop himself. His chest tightens again at how easily Jaskier closes his eyes and lets the same hands that deal in slaughter touch him.

Something else inside his chest reminds him that really, Jaskier is the only reason he trusts himself to use the same hands that deal in slaughter to do something so gentle, so careful, so soft .

"Thank you," Geralt murmurs back.

Jaskier's eyes flutter open again as he hums, encasing Geralt's hand in his own and squeezing gently.

In that moment, as with countless other moments involving Jaskier, Geralt finds himself seeing what Jaskier does, seeing the effortless trust and respect between them, the connection they share that he has to admit borders on everything he thought he'd never have, borders on love -

Without warning, Jaskier's face scrunches up as he winces.

"Jaskier? What- Did I do something wrong?" Geralt may or may not panic at the pain he sees flashing in his favourite blue eyes.

He wonders if Jaskier is regretting it after all, if he is simply a brute made only for violence as opposed to something as delicate as caring for Jaskier. He wonders if this is the day Jaskier changes his mind and sees what Geralt sees, if this is the day that everything falls apart-

But Jaskier shakes his head, glancing down at their hands.

"I forgot to protect my thumb."

honestly, it takes me so long so get round to crossposting because formatting doesn't work if you copy and paste into ffn *sighs*

thanks for reading! maybe review? x