( He doesn't know what the next couple of days have in store for him. He can't possibly predict it, he was never the psychic one in the family. Still, all the same, maybe some part of him on some level senses what's coming. Maybe that's why it feels important to do this now.

And Geralt is right — one problem at a time. No thinking ahead. They both know in the back of their minds that something unpleasant lies in the near future, but this... this ain't about that.

This is him still being enough of himself to care, enough of himself to ask for five minutes for no other reason than to check in properly. Text ain't them. He can't verify Geralt's got a pulse through his all-caps scrawl.

Technically he can't really verify a pulse here either, but whatever, close enough.

Geralt steps back, Dean settles in on the hood beside him, palms pressing flat on sun-warmed metal. The question's met with an immediate scoff. )

Hell no, who are you again?

( The way his eyes search over Geralt's form belies his bullshit — he's doing a quick status check of his own. A sweeping once-over to try make sure all limbs are attached, regardless of the fact that the Horizon could easily mask any real injury that exists out there in the waking world. )

I will say I haven't had a decent game of Knife Chess in three-odd weeks, but don't let that go to your head.