#tldr: geralt doesn't think jaskier is a killer and is proven wrong

[jaskiersvalley]

Serial killer au?? You have my attention

This was very much an idea of two parts. The first was Eskel/Lambert/Cahir (because that is my ultimate OT3 right now) and can be found here. But because of having such interest in it, it was only accidental but right that a Geralt/Jaskier half was also brewed in the empty container I call a brain.

Under a cut for general serial killer stuff. CW: drugging, implied abuse, discussions of killing.

Killing had never been what Geralt had an interest in. He wasn’t like Eskel and Lambert, he didn’t need to watch as an undeserving life was quenched by his hands. However, killing gave him something else. A sense of peace and justice. Geralt grew up in a world that was black and white, right or wrong but the wrongs of the world were mixed into a grey and fairness was rarely delivered. That was where Geralt came in. He stalked through the shadows of life, just like Vesemir had taught them. Staying out of the others’ way, Geralt found his own hunting grounds to quell the rage at the lack of justice rained down on those who deserved it.

One of the lessons Vesemir had drilled into them all was to never get close to anyone. Nobody could understand their lives, most would either run screaming or, even worse, call the authorities on them. Eskel and Lambert worked their way round that rule by loving each other. And, if their message about Christmas was to be believed, they had found a third who not only indulged them in their ways but joined them, more bloodthirsty than the two of them combined.

At one point, Geralt had hoped he’d found his match. Yennefer had been accepting of what he did, even joined him a few times. The sex had been mind blowing. The rest, unfortunately not so much. Yennefer was out for revenge, had a list of targets, of all those who had wronged her as she grew up. When Geralt had asked what would happen when she got to the end of her list, she had shrugged and said “I’ll have won” and that was it. They couldn’t last, Yennefer wanted to be the one to have the last laugh, to exact the same terror she had endured and survived. Geralt wanted to cultivate a world where deserving justice was doled out. Eskel and Lambert just wanted to kill. A great believer in the idea of ‘each to their own’, Geralt left Yennefer but he kept an ear out for her, hoping she was doing okay.

The rule about not getting close to anyone was one that Geralt took seriously after that. If only Jaskier had taken the same lesson to heart. Alas, he didn’t know or really care about Geralt’s wishes in respect to that. They met at a bar, or rather, Jaskier had gotten bottled off the small stage and he’d taken refuge from the boos in Geralt’s quiet booth. And he refused to leave after that.

No matter where Geralt went, Jaskier was hot on his heels, singing, laughing, being everything Geralt wasn’t. He was a ray of innocent sunshine and Geralt began to wonder whether his mere presence could taint that. Yet, no matter when Geralt did, Jaskier stuck to his side. In the privacy of his own mind, Geralt was glad, it was nice to have such upbeat company when he dealt with the darkness that humanity had to offer.

Despite his best efforts, Geralt was just a man and Jaskier ticked so many boxes; gladly willing, eager, adventurous and pleasing on the eyes. Of course Geralt was under no misconception that he was just a curiosity, an itch to scratch in Jaskier’s eyes. He couldn’t be anything else, not when Jaskier flirted and bedded so many people.

Things got more frustrating when Geralt sometimes put work into finding his next target, the next scum of the earth that had bought their way free from judgement, but when he was ready to strike, the person was already dead. Heart attack, suicide, stroke, accidental overdose, misadventure, it didn’t matter what. It made him sloppy and careless with frustration. That was how Jaskier found out. However, he didn’t scream or go running. Instead, he pulled a flip blade from a fancy boot and offered it to Geralt to slit his target’s throat. While Geralt worked, Jaskier sang happily, eyes bright and eager on the body by Geralt’s feet.

“Not bad, a little sloppy. If you move from the wrist than the whole arm when slitting a throat, you’ll get a neater, more elegant line.” Geralt looked up at Jaskier who shrugged and laughed. “You didn’t think I’d be some helpless idiot, did you?”

It became a bickering point from then one. Jaskier seemed intent to prove that he had prowess equal to Geralt’s. The only difference was that he used different methods. Poisons, ambiguous looking deaths but his work was the same as Geralt’s.

“I’m a hitman,” Jaskier had said simply. “I wouldn’t be a good one if I was obvious.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Geralt had shot back and thought nothing of the glint in Jaskier’s eyes.

Things continued as before, Jaskier perched on the edge of a dumpster and singing while Geralt dragged a body towards it or Jaskier humming, leaning back in a chair as Geralt dealt with the body on the bed of a hotel room. After a job well done, they tended to go out drinking and Geralt enjoyed it when Jaskier paid. The man seemed to have a never ending supply of money and, when asked, he said he collected bounty on kills they made. It was a farce but Geralt went along with it, not able to believe someone as upbeat, charismatic and happy go lucky could be not just a cold blooded killer but a good one at that.

The drink in his hand didn’t taste any different to usual but Geralt’s head swam. At first, he put it down to dehydration, he probably hadn’t had enough to drink before the job. So he drank more but it only made his thoughts slip around, jumbled. He almost slipped from his chair, glass toppling over the floor where he missed the table to rest it on.

“Oh dear, seems you had quite enough to drink,” Jaskier seemed entertained. This was Geralt’s first drink and yet he could barely focus. An arm was looped around his waist, his own was slung over broad shoulders. There were flashes of memories, Jaskier whispering sweet reassurances as cool air hit his bare skin. Something tightened around Geralt’s throat and he was shushed.

Waking up in the morning, Geralt groaned. His head was pounding and he couldn’t remember much beyond sitting down in a pub with Jaskier. If he really thought about it, there were snippets of memory but nothing concrete. Eyes opening, Geralt gasped, lurching up from the headboard he’d been resting against. The position had his neck and back sore and he couldn’t fathom why he wasn’t flat on his back.

There was a TV opposite him, playing porn on a loop. Not even good porn and he scoffed, wondering what the hell had happened. Something was snug around his neck and, reaching up, Geralt was mystified to find it was a belt.

“Good morning,” Jaskier trilled, looking perky. “Looks like someone had a wild night!”

“What?” Geralt rasped and gratefully took the glass of water being pushed into his hands. Which were lightly bound together.

“Well, porn, bondage, a belt around your neck, it looks like auto-erotic asphyxiation was on the menu last night.”

“I’m not into it,” Geralt growled, wishing he could remember what the hell had happened last night. On the bedside table was half a bottle of whiskey, a used glass and a bag of mysterious pills.

“Well, nobody other than you and I know that,” Jaskier purred. “And it could have gone so very wrong, one notch too tight on the belt. Especially with you mixing drugs and alcohol.”

Tutting, Jaskier shook his head. “People would assume it was sexual misadventure that killed you.”

Like a cold shower, realisation washed over Geralt with a large dose of horror. “You drugged me, set it up to look like this.”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier shrugged teasingly, “there’s no proof that I was involved at all. People see me take you to your room and leave almost immediately, having drinks and singing at the open mic last night before retiring my room which was next door to yours.”

Geralt looked towards the window and the ledge, knowing exactly what would have happened. If anyone had ever bothered to suspect Jaskier, though chances were, the scene he set was enough to not need a more thorough examination.

“Fuck,” Geralt swore and Jaskier tossed his head back on a laugh.

Never again did Geralt underestimate Jaskier. But he also thought twice about accepting a drink from him for a few months. It gave him a greater appreciation for how Jaskier worked though. Rarely, Geralt could spot the moment he drugged a target but that wasn’t needed half the time and they willingly followed him to their doom. If they didn’t, Geralt could always step in. They had their double act worked out wonderfully quickly and it was effective. Not many could resist stepping in to ‘protect’ Jaskier from a jealous ex. Or, if they did, they were flattered by the attention Geralt gave them.

It was a steep learning curve but Geralt learned from Jaskier and, in exchange, he taught Jaskier about his methods too. Such a partnership suited them well. While Geralt didn’t take bounties and hits, he still indulged in the benefits as Jaskier had no qualms about accepting payment to kill.

To say that Christmas was an interesting affair that year was an understatement. It wasn’t just the core family of four, they had two extra seats at the table which was carefully cleared of knives before anyone turned up. That wasn’t a deterrent to their deadly ways but at least it spared the walls from new holes.