( Ciri tells me I meet my end; his attention snaps back up to Geralt again, an unhappy furrow in his brow. He's the purest hypocrite in the world, to think his own death is alright but Geralt's isn't. He knows that. It's just-

Eight hundred years is a long damn time. Even without that, two is practically a decade for the kind of lives they lead. If there's one thing Dean's never been good with, it's letting go. )

So, we're here, then. This place, this world... this is it. For as long as it lasts.

( This is home. There's no going back, this is forever for them both — a concept that might be slightly more literal than either of them are comfortable with, but that's a bridge they'll have to cross way, way later.

This place is his future. The people in it are his future. It's that last part that scares him more than anything, and Jo's absence is a glaring, gaping hole. That's what prompts him to reach out, settling a firm hand on Geralt's forearm. There's a thick, hoarse cut to his voice, but it's still undeniably an order: )

Hey- don't you leave me here. Don't make me wake up to you being gone one day, you understand me?

( Yeah; hypocrisy. He doesn't care. It's not a promise Geralt has any ability to keep, not something he has any control over. He doesn't care about that, either. It has always been this: his people can live without Dean Winchester, but Dean Winchester can't live without his people. Considering he's barely even sure he wants to live at all just yet, it'd be a little too much for him to swallow right now. )