What's My Name?

A bard and a Witcher in a tavern. There's a job that Geralt needs his bard's help with, and to get that he knows he must apologise.
But will Jaskier come with him as easily as he has in the past?
If Geralt wants his help, he'll need to answer one very simple question from his very best friend in the whole wide world:
"What's my name?"

Notes:

Rating for language.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The sardonic raised eyebrow Geralt got when he sat down across from Jaskier in the crappy tavern didn't go far in telling the Witcher how the bard was feeling, nor how well he was likely to react to Geralt. This was, after all, the first time either man had seen or heard from the other since that disastrous dragon hunt when everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

Still, Lambert did have a point, as loath as Geralt was to admit it: they needed into the lord's estate, and a bard – especially a bard of Jaskier's calibre and renown – was certainly a good way to do that.

"...Jaskier." He finally grunted in greeting when the other man – rather uncharacteristically – refused to break the tense, uncomfortable silence first.

"Geralt." There was little inflection in the reply, and Jaskier's expression was giving nothing away. Not even Geralt's superior senses of smell and hearing were doing much in this room, what with all the background interference.

"...How have you been?" Geralt had rarely felt so awkward in his life.

This was not going how he thought it would go. Although, to be honest, he himself wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting.

More emotion and dramatics, to be certain.

Not the eye-roll that this simple – yet undeniably awkward – question earned. "Let's not waste time with this nonsense, Witcher." He arched an eyebrow at Geralt's confused frown (a mere twitch between his eyebrows, but Jaskier wasn't as out of practice reading the Witcher as many might assume) and elaborated. "This whole song and dance where we pretend like you didn't fuck up spectacularly then take out your anger and frustration at your pet witch bitch on me because... what? I was there? And let's not pretend like that didn't hurt, but let's also not pretend like it meant overly much in the long run.

"I'm well used to your temper tantrums after twenty three years, Geralt." Had it really been so long? Not much to a Witcher, but Geralt honestly hadn't realised so much time had passed. "And yes, I'm used to you lashing out at me as well as a way to relieve your burden or whatever shit you convince yourself of. What is it you tell yourself – if you act like we're not friends, like you don't care about me at all, then that makes it true? That maybe, I'm safer if I'm not around you?"

That... was actually pretty accurate to what Geralt had routinely thought over the span of their acquaintance.

"However," Jaskier continued, voice taking on a colder edge suddenly, and Geralt felt his chest constrict upon picking up on it. (Did he have a bad reaction to a potion?) "Let's also not pretend that this is going to be like any other time we've fought and then separated for any length of time." Yes, this had certainly not been the first time either man had lashed out at the other nor that they had parted for a while, but it had certainly been up there with some of Geralt's more vicious attacks.

"I'm sorry,"

Jaskier snorted at that, giving him a mildly amused look over the top of his tankard as he took a long swig then slammed it back down onto the tacky table between them. "Yeah, let's not pretend like that was genuine either. Though it looked like it hurt, so pat yourself on the back, Witcher."

Geralt scowled, incensed. "I am sorry – "

"No, you want something." Jaskier cut him off bluntly, and Geralt's mouth snapped shut in surprise. Because... well, he was right wasn't he. How he was right, however, how he had known, Geralt wasn't so clear on.

The bard chuckled mirthlessly at the look of surprise on Geralt's face at being caught out. "Mm, we both know you wouldn't be over here if you didn't. No, don't bother denying it; contrary to what you and your witch bitch seem to believe, I am not actually an idiot."

"Yenn's not a bitch," Geralt growled, unable to come up with anything else in reply to that, but Jaskier just gave him a supremely unimpressed look.

"Uh huh. So, now that we've avoided the awkwardness that would be you trying to make small talk and apologise before getting to what you really want – and let's be clear here, I do not appreciate you attempting this farce of an apology just to use me – you can kindly fuck off. You don't want to be here, and I don't want you to be here. Goodbye." He said bluntly, and then turned to his companion who had sat silently at his side, watching with wide, curious eyes.

The dismissal was clear, but Geralt wasn't about to let it stand.

Much as he loathed to admit it, Jaskier helping would make this a lot easier.

He spoke quickly as Jaskier opened his mouth to presumably engage his companion in conversation (and was she familiar? Geralt felt vaguely like he should have known her, like he had maybe met her before, but he couldn't for the life of him place her.), cutting him off before he could get started. He knew that once Jaskier got going, it was all but impossible to shut him up again.

"Jaskier. I'm not here to use you."

He saw the man's jaw clench, clearly tamping down on his frustration, before he once again turned cold, indifferent blue eyes on the Witcher. (Had his eyes always been that blue? Geralt's memory didn't do the colour justice.)

"So you're not here about that... ah, situation with the local lord, then?" Came the rhetorical question, and then the smirk when Geralt just blinked stupidly at him. "Not... hm, not here to request my services? After all, a bard is an almost certain way to get access to the property, especially when the lord in question is holding a banquet tomorrow night, and especially when that bard is me. And really, what difficulty would it be for me to get a Witcher in? It's not like I haven't done it before.

"Of course," Jaskier continued off-handedly, utterly ignoring the way Geralt was internally floundering as Jaskier... pretty much outlined his entire reason and plan for being here. Damn, he hated that man sometimes. (Not really, of course – he was... Jaskier was his friend, as loath as he had always been to admit that.) "You can't even claim to have come up with that plan."

...What? How the hell did Jaskier know that part?!

"No, I'm sure Lambert suggested it to you. Does he know we parted ways, or is he assuming we're still... well, not friends. We're not 'friends' after all, are we Geralt. Though, Aiden probably told Lambert first of course. He's more likely to think of me if he knew I was around,"

"...Who the hell is Aiden?"

Yeah, not the best reply he could have made to that, and he didn't blame Jaskier in the slightest for the disgusted look he sent him at it.

"That's what you're choosing to focus on? And if you don't know, consider that there might be a reason for that. So I'm not about to be the one to tell you."

Geralt grit his teeth, and didn't bother giving that implication any more than a passing thought. "So you won't help us? People are dying, Jaskier."

"No, people are acting in strange ways. No one has yet died. And no. I won't help you. It has nothing to do with me; and, quite frankly, I don't want to help you." He gave him an almost cruel smile, masking his pain well with the facade. "After all, we both know I just shovel shit, don't we? Wouldn't want to sully you any further, oh mighty Witcher." Yes, he was definitely being mocked here, but he had to conceded that the man did have rather a good reason to do so...

"I was wrong with that, Jaskier." He sighed, painful though it admittedly was to be saying any of this out loud. He knew he needed to – had known he would need to if he ever wanted his friend back since after he had calmed down on that damn mountain, to be honest. This was not, however, how he wanted to do it, and, really, he wasn't overly invested in apologising at this moment. "I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did. At the time, you most certainly did.

"But let's leave that utter bullshit to the side shall we, hm? I mean, we both know where you'd be if it wasn't for me. Melitele knows you were not doing well before I came along."

Yes, Jaskier had indeed drastically improved his image since becoming his barker. Sure, so he would never be universally liked, but Geralt had to admit that it was nice not to be run off with pitchforks and spat on more often than not.

Still. He... he had never really said that out loud to Jaskier before, and he didn't intend to start now.

The woman with Jaskier – another bard? She was certainly dressed eyes searingly enough – shifted in her seat, but didn't speak up, apparently content to let the two have this out between them without getting involved.

Geralt sighed, shoving aside all tangential thoughts and focusing on what was important here.

The hunt.

"You really won't help us. You. Won't help two Witchers. You'd get to meet my brother?"

Jaskier snorted at that. "Geralt, if that was your idea of an attempt at bribery, you failed miserably.

"I met your brother years ago. Both your brothers, actually." He gave him a slightly incredulous look. "What, you didn't think you're the only Witcher I know, did you?"

Geralt had thought that, actually. He couldn't recall the bard ever telling him otherwise, nor could he remember either of his brothers telling him that they had met his bard.

Jaskier obviously read this on his face, because he rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable. I know multiple Witchers, Geralt, and have written songs about many as well. Though thank you for once again proving that you pay absolutely no attention to me or my life whatsoever – unless of course it's something I can give you."

Now that was just unfair! Sure, he tended to tune Jaskier's ramblings out when they travelled, but the man never shut up!

"Jaskier..." He growled but the man was, as ever, unafraid.

Anyone else would piss themselves in terror when faced with an increasingly irritated witcher, but then, Jaskier had never exactly been normal.

Jaskier had never been afraid of him...

'Come on, you don't want to keep a man with...bread...in his pants, waiting!'

Of course, it could be argued that he had no sense of self preservation either.

"Geralt..." The bard mocked, clearly not about to fold to Geralt's whims.

And why had the Witcher expected him to? Why had he expected the man to just abandon whatever it was he was doing and come help Geralt at the drop of a hat.

Because what he was doing couldn't possibly be important or ever worthwhile. Because he had done so before. Because...

He didn't have a good enough reason to answer that question.

Geralt sighed. "Is there anything that will convince you to help us?" He asked wearily. He knew that they would be able to do this hunt without the bard, but... Well, Lambert (and this Aiden, whoever he was?) had been right: it would be easier with Jaskier.

And not just because the man had worked with a Witcher – Witchers plural? Since when? – before.

Jaskier sat back in his seat, arms crossed across his deceptively broad (those doublets were excellently tailored, no one ever guessed at the musculature underneath, not even Geralt who had been more than a little shocked when he had first seen the younger man shirtless many years ago now) chest and his eyes calculating.

"Alright." He said after a moment, voice deceptively mild and unfailingly even. "I'll help you if you can answer one question. We've travelled together on and off for over two decades, after all, and I know I have used it in front of you before."