( The anger is like an itch in his chest that he can't seem to scratch no matter how hard he tries. It burns, it claws unsatisfied behind his ribs and in the back of his mind. Not enough, he hasn't raked his fingernails across this enough, and there's an ever-present compulsion to try harder.

He knows better. Logically, rationally, he knows being pissed is the wrong way to handle this. He knows aspects of this were outside of Geralt's control. He knows he should stop.

But lizard brain is starting to tip the scales in a way it didn't quite manage a week ago, the last time Dean nearly blew up at him. It's louder, it's starting to block out the part of him that would kneel to expressing his concern with empathy. With being reasonable about this.

I'm worried, I'm stressed, I care becomes I'm angry, I'm discontent, I'm being dismissed becomes be louder, be stronger, do better.

Which then becomes something decidedly less than good.

Fight. Escalate. Fight. )

That's not good enough. If I can't trust you, why the hell should I bother telling you this shit in the first place? Hell, for that matter, why should I even risk letting you stick around? If you're not gonna fucking listen, you're gonna get yourself got for real, and frankly? I'd rather take a hard pass than be responsible for that. No, thanks. Screw that, and screw you.