Geralt's expression shifts when Sam says nearsighted—the appraising look on his face giving way to something closer to understanding. Maybe that's unexpected, where his reaction is concerned, but he can't quite begrudge the protectiveness in Sam. Even if, he thinks, it is a little misdirected.

Besides. They're all nearsighted, under the right circumstances. He's not immune, either.

"I've noticed." He also knows exactly the problem with Dean. As much as it isn't for him to grant the details, he equally doesn't want to get involved in covering for Dean. The line between omission and discretion is thin. Speaking to Jo was one thing. He'd had time to gauge the dynamic between she and Dean. Dean and his brother is another crack in the ice entirely, and not one he wants to step on blind.

Really, this would be simpler if Dean would tell everyone what the fuck was going on. Be done with it. He can't blame the man for avoiding the topic, but—it's beginning to bleed out past the point where people notice.

He sighs. "I confronted him not long ago. He eventually told me the truth. But frankly," Geralt continues, blunt but not unkind, "if he's not revealed it to you, then it isn't my place to say. You should ask him yourself. Or give him time to come around to it."