The waterskin was Geralt's best friend and worst, he had taken in a mouthful before he realized that he simply could not and coughed it all over the side of the bed. But the liquid that had hit his teeth, his tongue, the back of his throat-- it awakened a thirst that was as likely to kill him as soothe him and Geralt was fumbling for the leather pouch to make sure that Jaskier didn't try to pull it away, that sappy tone of his be damned. He coughed out two more mouthfuls before his throat was soaked by-proxy enough to release and then, with the bard's help, he chugged the rest of the skin.

Which he promptly brought up, in it's entirety. Not quite off the bed. Maybe it was an answer for the bard's words or maybe just an honest reaction but Geralt was sated and no one was pulling anything off his wounds anymore so he slid back toward the darkness, easy enough in his contentment.