( He pulls a face at the size of grapes. It takes real, actual self-control not to go on a tangent about grape size, and how either Geralt's world has deeply absurd grapes, or Geralt's sense of proportion is way less flattering than it rightfully should be on a very personal level. Thankfully, that entire uncomfortable train of thought is promptly derailed by the question. )

Hell no. First of all, I'm not suicidal. ( And Jaskier would probably apparate into his bedchamber in the middle of the night to slit his throat while he slept if Dean dared openly bash his livelihood. ) Second of all, why would I? His music slaps. You know, for like... medieval hipster folk rock.

( He stops Geralt with a sudden hand on his arm, and points threateningly. )

Never, ever tell Sam I said that.

( But anyway. Back on track. His hand falls away, and they carry on trudging forth. He absently plucks up a dragon papaya, shoving it in his bag thoughtlessly. )

No, it was over Nadine, actually.