[ Geralt has never been particularly delicate about...anything. Finds it neither worth his efforts nor a useful way to proceed. But they've a genuine problem on their hands—Dean, as a demon, on the loose. In the face of this confession, Castiel is more of a wildcard than ever. He does not know what Castiel will do when it comes to Dean, whether to protect him, save him, something else.

So he doesn't say that Castiel has already lost him. That they all have. ]

It isn't your job to give him peace. [ He pauses. Measures his words with care. ] And men like him, like us—we find our peace in places others do not. Cleaning blood off a blade while the sun rises. A moment of quiet by the fire before the next hunt. You don't owe him anything more than the truth.

[ Whether Dean is here to receive it or not. Still, he isn't certain this is about Dean. Not exactly. It's about Castiel—whatever thread the demon has unravelled by bringing this little fact to light. Perhaps the angel simply needs time to reflect on. Everything. A lot has happened in a short period.

He shifts his weight. Studies Castiel closely. It isn't a question he often poses—not when he thinks he knows the answer he'll receive—but this is different. ]

Will you be all right?