[Dean is knocked off balance by Faith shoving into him again, jarring his broken wrist with another shout of pain to accompany it, his vision blurring in an all too familiar fashion; but the bottle in his hand has broken in a most satisfying way, and he's about to slam what's left of it down again, staying close and not even thinking of trying to get away, when something else catches hold of him and hauls him out of the way over the bar.

The enraged hunter makes one uncoordinated, powerful lunge to get back around to where he can get at either Bruce or Faith, noting without immediately acknowledging that Dick has arrived on the scene, but someone is holding him where he is; the words register on a five second delay, and Dean is snarling his answer after he goes ahead and chucks the neck of the bottle back at the other two. He never takes his eyes off them, despite the way he steps back and curls his injured hand protectively against his stomach.]

What's going on is that some two-faced cowards need help learning how and when to shut their fucking claptraps - send a better fucking warden home and suddenly someone's all big and brave and full of sass. It's bullshit.