He doesn't deserve this — that's his first thought as Blake winds his arms around Dean in an embrace. For a guilty moment, all he can do is just sit there, receiving absolution and acceptance that he hasn't earned, hating himself for finding comfort in it because a good man wouldn't. And then the toxic patterns of his brain give way just a little, a product of the meager amount of growth he's allowed himself in his nearly two years of developing personal relationships in this place.

And slowly, he winds his arms around Blake back, reciprocating — but still hesitant. It hasn't been that much growth.

With his hands gently on Blake's biceps, with his mouth somewhere against the fabric of Blake's shoulder, he murmurs, "I was gonna kill you. That day in Aquila."

Rip the bandage off. Just say it. The most honest way to do it is like that, and then let the explanation follow.

"I was cursed. It was a- a mark, that followed me from back home, I was corrupted. I wasn't me. I was somethin' else, and I would have killed every single person I could have gotten away with, if Geralt and Ciri hadn't cured me. That day, it was gonna be you."