[It appears he's gotten to the heart of the matter. Geralt grows tight underneath his hands (or under the brush, specifically), and it's all the more obvious now that he's becoming cleaner, and the water far darker.

Oh. This is going to take several goes of water, isn't it?

It's easier to focus on things like that, then realizing Geralt may truly answer his question -- and Jaskier was so busy simply getting them home, he did not have time to let himself fret about what was happening to them. (Except he did, constantly.)

Jaskier keeps scrubbing, keeps soaping, as if he isn't listening. Geralt knows better; can hear the spike in Jaskier's heart, and how his breath sucks between his teeth quietly.

He closes his eyes. Asking didn't change anything except giving him an impression of what may have happened down there.] You're reliving something you never should have had to. [He sets the brush down, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. There're new scars again. Ones he doesn't recognize.

Jaskier lays his palm between Geralt's shoulder blades.]

That's too much for any one man. And if you try to bury this, I'm afraid your temple may become undone.