abraxaslogs | so many wars we fought, so many things we're not

There's a really short list of the who, after she rocks back a little surprised. It's different looking, and she too aware, too certain that it isn't Cas. The only person she can think of who would send her something this to the point. Which. Leaves Geralt. It's weird. But, just as weirdly, it's probably the safest starter of topics and one she will return on. Her brows pinched, and she was not unaware of Dean's increasing irritation with everything breathing. Existing.

ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕤𝕖?

Were they keeping it to words? To the Horizon?
Did he want her to meet him somewhere?

(Is it strange, the whole concept isn't as repugnant as it once was?)

Part of him isn't certain he'll receive an agreement to meet, or even an answer. But she does, and then he is contemplating—for the first time since they've met—where he wants to meet Jo. To talk.

The Silver Cog.
South end.

Geralt has, in his collection, a number of taverns that the other Summoned do not frequent. Places he goes when he wishes to be left alone, which is often. The Silver Cog is one of them. It's in a rougher, less pleasant part of town, but that makes it an ideal place to discuss matters uninterrupted, amongst a crowd too drunk to remember what they're even saying.

He'll be nursing a drink already when she arrives. There's a considering sort of look when he sees her, like he's aware neither of them quite expected to find themselves doing this. He isn't sure how he feels about it. Decides not to think too deeply on the matter. He doesn't...hate it, and perhaps that'll do for now.

As is his habit, Geralt doesn't bother with lead-up or meandering small talk. The moment she's seated, he delves into it. "I spoke to Dean some days ago. He's...not himself. You know him well. Thought if anyone noticed anything, too, it'd be you."

Jo doesn't answer, but she doesn't dither about collecting everything she has with her. Geralt's lucky in this instance: she isn't in Libertas already and isn't in the middle of sword practice; she'd been halfway through catching a meal. But food can wait compared to the topic, which tangles a weight around her neck and ribs as she situates her sword and grabs the small satchel of holding.

She doesn't need directions. She hadn't lied to Ciri three months back when she said she was mapping and memorizing the streets. She's never been in it, but she has the weathered, batter sign of the place in her mind, and where off that is, within having just read it. It's a bit of a walk, but she's direct and focused enough that shop owners she might usually talk to are briskly walked by without so much as a nod.

If there's some judgment for the look of the place, it's not about its location or clientele. It's more about the bones of the building. There isn't quite as much stepping in. Ragtag bunches of the kind found in the black were her whole life's bread and butter. Her copper gaze shifts over them all until it finds Geralt, but her expression doesn't turn any specific way when she heads for the open seat next to him, sliding into it without any fanfare or even a wave to the barkeep.

Jo's first reaction, even though she's come this far for good reason, is the want to snap her mouth shut, to not say anything; disparaging family not-to-family is a rule one doesn't break. Except. Whatever they are, Geralt's important enough Dean would have left over him; whatever they are, it's important enough that Geralt contacted her of all people, because he's worried about Dean. Whatever she is or isn't adjacent to either of those, she's not blind.

"Yeah." Jo nods stiffly, pushing past thorns for a middle somewhere between those. "He's--" Does it feel like a betrayal? Maybe. But, also, fuck her, but it's nice not to be one of only two people to notice in-house, and it being noticed outside the Bar and the Bunker, well, that's another point in the problem column. She settles for: "It's like he's looking for fights where there aren't any."

So she's noticed, as well.

A few seconds of silence greets that. The thing is, he knows what's going on, inasmuch as Dean's outlined the situation. And while he is not here to spill Dean's secrets on his behalf, he frankly isn't sure Dean will tell him if things are getting worse. Not because he doesn't trust Dean, but because something tells him Dean may not be capable recognizing it in time to tell him.

So after a moment, he says, "He came looking for one with me. When I finally dug it out of him, he told me a curse followed him from home. That it's...affecting him." He pauses. Has Dean told her about this? If not, she knows now. "My concern is it may escalate beyond seeking fights."

His concern is also what the fuck to do about the curse, but that is a larger problem which requires time. Time, and answers that seem near-impossible to retrieve. He isn't opposed to asking for Jo's help—as strange as it is to admit, where Dean is concerned, were he to involve anyone else it'd only be her—but like Jo, he's unwilling to immediately lay down every card over what Dean has confessed. It feels...hasty. And he has little desire to go behind someone's back, friend or no. That's a layer of complication he doesn't need in his life.

Edited 2022-11-16 00:19 (UTC)

Oh. That get's all of Jo's attention in a snap. He said a lot of words, but her brain boiled it down to six (a curse followed him from home), and from those six, just one (curse; Dean is cursed), in less time that it took to pull a suddenly alert, confused breath in her nose.

"What curse?"

Jo hates that she's basically been proven a second time, months later, not to know something big right there in the face of Geralt, but even more so, she's rather attached to the flicker of a reaction that spawns the image of punching Dean is his face for doing this to her again. But deadly seriousness and concern still wins out over all the rest, backdropping every emotion and thought that isn't gathering the information first.

How, and who, and what, and how they break it now get front center stage.

"The Mark of Cain," he replies. If he catches the shift in her expression, he doesn't remark on it. Instead, he draws the rune etched onto Dean's skin. Holds up the parchment to her. "You know it?"

She may have seen it. It's prominent on Dean's arm, though Geralt isn't certain if Dean's been covering it since it began to, mm. Develop. Angry and irritated, like a fresh brand. When he'd noticed it weeks ago, it'd been little more than a flash of a scar.

Whatever is happening, it's progressing at a noticeable pace. And Dean—Geralt doesn't think Dean was hiding it so much as burying his head in the sand. Not until Geralt confronted him did Dean even seemed to realize he was being an uncharacteristic bastard. Even for him.

Jo does recognize the symbol. She's seen it a handful of times on Dean's arm. A wide thing, angry but smooth, more like a blister or a burn than any cut. But never seeming to be headed toward healing away. But she hadn't been paying a lot of attention to it. Scars, burns, sometimes even broken bones, were two and three dozen e both back home and here.

"Cain like Cain and Able?"

She half-scoffs the names duo, but it dies at the lift on seriousness. Because insane though it might be? There was currently one angel in this one place—there had been two before Cas vanished—and The Devil was at court in Thorne, and she'd gotten her Demille close-up more than once with him. Thinking it was insane Lucifer was real didn't make him not real, and denial only got you dead faster.

Geralt lifts a hand in answer. Fuck if I know. The name Cain is as meaningless to him as the name Lucifer. Merely a man, as far as he's aware. Or. Was a man. Dean never said what Cain became by the time they spoke.

Not mortal. That much is for certain.

"He didn't mention Abel. You're familiar with the curse, then?"

Because no: it doesn't occur to Geralt that this is simply a well-known tale written in her world. He's operating solely on the idea that this is a tried and true curse: named after the man who seemingly was afflicted first, then passed along.

Myths come to life are far less of a thing on the Continent.

Edited 2022-11-16 04:56 (UTC)

Jo's expression barely shifts at the raise of that hand, even though her gaze goes to it and then back to Geralt's face. A slight bit more frown forms at realizing he doesn't know that answer, and it's a big, times insanity, leap. It feels both too insane and just insane enough to be true when it comes to Winchester Bullshit.

"No." She shook her head. "That's a guess, and an insane one at that."

She says it like maybe it will dispel the growing consideration. Or the fact she hates that there aren't computers here to look it up. Or the easy, straightforward truth, that Dean knows the answer, but Dean isn't here, because something is happening bad enough with Dean he isn't invited to the discussion.

Heard of it, then. A guess based on...what. Something that shouldn't exist? Seems to be, from her reaction.

A grain of truth in every story. As they say. It leaves little for any of them to work with. His knowledge of curses runs deep, but it's predicated upon how they function in his sphere. He isn't sure that applies entirely to Dean.

"He knew almost nothing else," he says. "Only that this curse links him to a unique blade."

Geralt believes him. It's an incredibly Dean fucking thing to do, to take a deal and worry about the consequences afterwards. But the brand exists without the blade here, in this world, so the magic must be held by something else. Something more. Curses as a general rule are not inherently complex. Not in application. It is the cost of removing one which makes them so dangerous.

And some curses cannot be removed until it has run its full course.

Jo's face is one hundred percent skepticism (and it's really up to Geralt's observation of Jo whether he understands that it's at Geralt's saying those words, or the active instant passing by of that, to the vaguest of details from Dean's mouth on that). Her posture cants back with her weight, and an eyebrow goes sharp. "That's it?"

"That's all he knows? That he's linked to a blade?" Jo seriously and severely doubts Dean (and Sam, wherever back on the other side of the kidnap wall) knows only that very little. "There's got to be more than that if he's throwing the world's longest hissy fit about anything that happens to exist near him because of it."

Definitely, no normal blade and curses could run a massive gamut.
What you did to get them, what they did while you had it, and what it took to get out. "Did he say how it happened?"

Geralt tips his head, as if to confirm, That's it. That is all Dean knows. But as for whether that's all Geralt extrapolated from their conversation, that's another matter.

"To kill an un-killable demon. Called it the First Blade. Only those with the mark can wield it." The entire concept is not...difficult to grasp, but to Geralt it does strike him as unusual. This level of importance placed on the first human murder, on the first weapon created. "If you're familiar with the name Cain and with curses, then you understand the possible nature of it."

He doesn't explain further, only because he assumes Jo can put it together. All curses follow a certain logic. If it's born from a mark with an emphasis on killing, is inherently tied to a weapon, and Dean has been growing steadily more agitated, looking for a fight, then. The path starts to draw itself. Doesn't it?

It's a theory. But he doubts he's wrong. Dean didn't seem to believe he was, either, when Geralt mentioned it. I'm already a murderer.

Yeah, with the name of the blade and the person, Jo's growing certain of the insanity, and certain that it is insanity, and certain that it's solidly in the only the Winchester's box, where all insane things and far too much fuckery is put trying to break them over and over and over again.

"Yeah," Jo says, more certainly. Now it's more that her brow is furrowed, consternation and thought, but even there are too many connecting lines missing, all of what she has and all of what she's missing, add up to bad. All of this is bad. There's a breath of air pressed out her nose. "He's an idiot."

Geralt, of all people here in Abraxas so far, knows those three words don't have the fire and brimstone of a blistering insult from her. Just a frustration, edged with consideration. Before. On a dime. As facts are more important when the problem is already happening. "What happened when you two were talking last?"

Mm. Yes. Dean is an idiot. They do agree upon that, at least, though Geralt does not say it out loud. There is a lot, in fact, unspoken between he and Jo ever since their excursion, both things he isn't entirely sure about and things he is, but none are topics he's inclined to discuss thus far. So.

Dean it is. A more pressing concern, in any case.

"He was aggressive. On edge." A massive prick, frankly, but that doesn't sum it up accurately. There's being a cock, and then there's whatever it was that Dean was doing. Something wholly out of character. Between them, anyhow. They've had their share of shouting, but Dean was on the verge of coming to blows—as if he were just waiting for an excuse to act.

"He didn't seem aware. Which is why I came to you. He promised he'd tell me if the effects worsen, and I believe he intends to try. Whether he's capable of recognizing it when the time comes is another matter. And before you answer—know I mean to tell him of our conversation."

The request is implicit: if Jo would be willing to keep an eye on Dean. Tell him if anything...further changes. In return, he will do the same for her. But he has no wish to propose they do it by sneaking around. That isn't what this is about. He's always been upfront with Dean, where it counts. He wants to keep it that way.

Jo snorted, disinclined to any assumption Geralt might have behind those last words about her.
"As though I won't be having a conversation with him today about this all, too."

Maybe not entirely about what Geralt's said, but they'll be talking.
The question of why is in there, but it's not the biggest of import either.

There's an anthesis between he promised he'd tell me and he wasn't aware. Jo'd have to be blind to miss that's actually the crux of this. Watching Dean while he tries to control whatever it is, even as it's already bleeding out everywhere. Back at Mag's, in the Horizon, and now, this, even more, excelled level of it.

"I do think he'll try. Dean doesn't know how not to." She respects a lot of what he's done, who he is, but he's as fallible as the next hunter, and in some ways, most hunters are near predictable in certain situations. "But as you said, he didn't notice until you got through to him, and this is all ramping from smaller to larger, and if he's noticing less, the more it's coming through him—"

Jo looked away, considering vaguely getting a drink, but didn't move to flag anyone, brow still furrowed, copper eyes turning it all over. "It won't get better until he's uncursed, so we have to figure out more about that, too."

Edited 2022-11-18 23:59 (UTC)

"I'm sure." That's not in question. It's more, he doesn't want her to think he means to keep anything from Dean, on his end. Or that he'd venture to ask that of her. Perhaps he simply expects the worst assumed of his intentions—and maybe a flicker of surprise is visible when he realizes the thought had not actually crossed her mind.

Later, he might reflect on that.

Her remark is agreement enough for him. Removing the curse is a different problem. One he has less of an idea of how to approach. Bit hard to investigate a curse from a world not of his own, received from a sphere that they haven't got access to. Only two of them might know anything from that realm: Jo and Dean.

Mm. Three, possibly. But where Geralt is willing to accept a we with Jo (strange in and of itself, and yet), Lucifer is beyond out of the fucking question.

"I don't know where to begin," he replies plainly. "Aspects common to your sphere don't exist in mine. Dean was forced to give me a lesson on Lucifer." Emphasis on forced. "He was shit at it."

Jo bites back the words that all but nearly fall out of her mouth:
At least he's talking to you about those things.

Geralt isn't the one she's pissed at. Or. Geralt isn't the one she's pissed at, but maybe she's pissed at him for being the person Dean's obviously going to go on actually picking; regardless of whatever the fuck he's said, that he'd stop not telling her things or that her being here opens up doors for ... other things. Just so long as she doesn't care that she's being hung out to dry, unaware at the same time, apparently.

That can be later.

(That can come next.)

Jo had tapped two fingers on the bar thinking, expression unchanged.
"Maybe the books in the bunker. If they're in there from his time, too."

She'd taken to looking through some of them lately, and even absconded a whole series off to her room. But this. It'd be the first time to figure out if the library in dreamland was worth any of its salt and Dean's bragging. "It might not be the worst place to start."

Geralt, unaware of what precisely Jo is thinking about, briefly considers books in the bunker. Which, mm. Maybe. Would that work? It's true the contents would only originate from what Dean knows, but it's equally true that Dean may subconsciously know things that he hasn't yet considered relevant or pieced together.

He tilts his head. "A start will do."

There's a pause, a moment where he isn't sure where this conversation puts them. Allies? Mutual interests? Nothing that suits a label, really. And true. He did ask her here to talk about Dean. He could end it there. But he doesn't like leaving what happened unacknowledged, and he doesn't like how he reacted to her words that day, the way he lost his temper. There's a difference, to him, between being rightfully angry and...that.

Maybe it feels especially important when so many look for him to be a certain thing. A certain monster.

"Wait." Whether she's moving to leave or still seated, Geralt finds himself looking up to catch her gaze. "I am sorry. For putting a blade to you. You were out of line. But so was I."

Jo is moving. A start is enough to have a direction, and that direction will come after she finds Dean Winchester and decides whether to punch him in his stupid face first. But it's a plan or the edge of one. To watch and to do some research. Which seems to be all he needed her to be here to hear about and agree to.

The wait is surprised, and her brow knits. Uncertainty at war with the inconvenience of the unknown, but it might just be that she moved too soon, and there was something more he decided she needed to know. And, god knows, he might be the only one to tell her even if she punched Dean.

The words that he says fall strangely between them. It shifts her weight onto her heels. Snags her skin and shifts it just slightly the wrong way across her bones. She can't even say an apology would be the last thing she expected because an apology wasn't in the realm of the most or least expected. It's just. Weird. Unexpected.

A thing she doesn't know how to weigh against his expression.

Her mouth presses.

"It's like Ciri said. Everyone was a bit fucked up by all of that."
It's not her own apology; but it's not a direct lack of acceptance, either.
She's spent a goddamn awful amount of energy trying not to think about that day.

He's studying her, though he isn't searching for any particular reaction. His face is difficult to read—not blank, but not open, either. Sincerity is not quite the right word. A certain frankness, more.

When she answers, he nods. He doesn't need reciprocation; her apology is her own to make, if she chooses. He only wants his laid out there, for her to take as she will, and now it is.

She's not wrong. They were fucked up that day. That entire damn week or two. But he was still himself, still making his decisions with full awareness. It doesn't feel right to pin the blame, even partially, on unseen forces.

He sits back in his seat, a signal that he hasn't more to add. He's said all he wanted to say. With any luck—Dean is correct that they'll have some time to work this out.

"If something arises, I'll contact you."

And that's that, isn't it? Short and sweet. She'd hoped as much, hadn't she?
Except she could never have been prepared for what he'd had to say.

Jo didn't know if she felt like she should say more. He wasn't wrong that she was out of line, and she hadn't been wrong; she told him she had nothing to go on to jump to different conclusions. Even knowing she was wrong, there was more of a strange wave of annoyance at the fact she was still thinking about it, whether it was heartless not to feel guilty about just that when she knew she wasn't going to reciprocate.

Not that he seemed to need it. He sat down, returning to his drink and facing the bar. Saying those few words, and how strange is it that she thinks that I'm sorry isn't right and thank you for telling me is not something she wants to set free—still reeks too much of admitting to needing charity to just be in the loop—and she ends up at only:

"Same."

Before she turns away and heads for the door,
already typing three words in the air.

Edited 2022-11-29 02:04 (UTC)

so many wars we fought, so many things we're not

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