Well played, Geralt. If there was a way to almost guarantee Dean's compliance, the closest thing would be dropping those three little words.

I'm trusting you.

It earns Geralt another look, more serious this time — lips pressing flat together, something lingering in his gaze. Meaningful, if not particularly happy.

"I won't," comes the final murmur. It's a promise - I'm not gonna disappoint you. On its heels, something less serious and a hell of a lot more petulant, "I want to."

But he won't.

He casts one last glance toward the empty halls where Lucifer disappeared, and then pivots to stalk in the exact opposite direction.

"I need a fucking drink."