( It probably shouldn't make that much of a difference, but strangely, it does; Geralt saying it'll fall on my shoulders as much as yours. The thought of sharing that responsibility, should it come to it, does something for him. Helps the imagined weight of it feel a little less heavy, even though it's purely hypothetical, even though it doesn't really mean anything or change anything, strangely, the sentiment is enough to get him to relax. Geralt has strong shoulders. Dean's are tired. If it has to be carried, it's easier with two.

And so, after a beat, he nods, lips pressed together in something akin to resignation. )

Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm here, aren't I?

( Despite his reservations and concerns, despite voicing them now, he's already doing it. Some part of him already had the instinct that this was the right call, or else he wouldn't be here climbing the jungle shrubs and hunting down magic dragon cure nuts or whatever the hell it is they're looking for.

And then, after a beat, apropos of entirely nothing and with sudden enthusiasm: )

Hey, did your boyfriend tell you he bird-attacked me in the desert the other day? Totally dive-bombed me like a freakin' feathered lunatic.