Wash it? Hell no. ( Pause for the punchline: ) Be way easier to just cut it. I've got some scissors in the bathroom.

( He's kidding. Obviously.

Unless Geralt ever asks, at which point he'd be totally on that shit.

The last bandage affixed into place, he sits back in his own chair properly. Brings the bottle to his lips again to take a swig like punctuation, then slumps down a little into lazier posture. More tired, more boneless. )

If you wanna sleep somewhere that ain't the hallway, though, you're gonna need to change your damn clothes first.

( That's two subtle offers in one, slipped onto the table for Geralt to think about if he wants. They're not too far off in terms of size, and Dean's bed is open.

Well, technically, Cas's bed is open. Cas doesn't sleep, and also isn't here right now.

But first, in the meantime... A little gentle probing. His expression turns serious again, solemn, but also somehow a little gentle. His approach is a strange combination of blunt but also soft — no beating around the bush, but this isn't a demand. It's a request. )

You wanna tell me about the girl?

( He's not an idiot. )