( Let it never be said Geralt's not intuitive. Dude knows his stuff, he's bang on the money yet again.
There's perpetually something distinctly fatigued in Dean — more and more every day, it seems. Impossibly, somehow, always more tired. That tiredness carries him across the short distance toward the cliff face, to a low boulder he can drop himself wearily onto.
His back slopes. Elbows hit his knees. He drags his palm over his face again as he talks, muffling a couple of the words in its absent passage. )
I've been trying... not to bring you into more of my bullshit.
( His hand falls away so he can shoot Geralt an earnest look. He has, he really has, he means it.
That agitation ramps up again the more he talks, but it's not directed at Geralt. It's not because of him, so much as it is at everything, or himself, or maybe on Geralt's behalf. )
From- from practically day freaking one I just keep unloading more and more of my crap on you, I mean- it feels like every other month it's something new. I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe it wouldn't follow me here, or that- that I could shut it down until I could figure something out, or- something. But ever since all that crap went down with the heralds... I don't know. I think it's getting worse.
( Which is a whole lot of words that don't even remotely answer the damn question, so a moment later, he holds out his arm. He bares the mark, angry-red and inflamed like an irritated wound rather than a months-old scar. )
no subject
There's perpetually something distinctly fatigued in Dean — more and more every day, it seems. Impossibly, somehow, always more tired. That tiredness carries him across the short distance toward the cliff face, to a low boulder he can drop himself wearily onto.
His back slopes. Elbows hit his knees. He drags his palm over his face again as he talks, muffling a couple of the words in its absent passage. )
I've been trying... not to bring you into more of my bullshit.
( His hand falls away so he can shoot Geralt an earnest look. He has, he really has, he means it.
That agitation ramps up again the more he talks, but it's not directed at Geralt. It's not because of him, so much as it is at everything, or himself, or maybe on Geralt's behalf. )
From- from practically day freaking one I just keep unloading more and more of my crap on you, I mean- it feels like every other month it's something new. I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe it wouldn't follow me here, or that- that I could shut it down until I could figure something out, or- something. But ever since all that crap went down with the heralds... I don't know. I think it's getting worse.
( Which is a whole lot of words that don't even remotely answer the damn question, so a moment later, he holds out his arm. He bares the mark, angry-red and inflamed like an irritated wound rather than a months-old scar. )