When he noticed that the man was intent on gobbling up all the liquor in this place, Spike tapped the bar's wooden surface and then pointed at him. "Just so you know, I'm not dragging you back to your place. Wherever that is. Done bloody well enough of that. Or so it feels. Feeding bloody vampires with my blood because certain STUPID Ravenclaw bints have to take a starving vampire to the bloody movies." Trouble was, he'd liked them. Both. Had cared for them, as well, or else he wouldn't have gone through all that trouble to make sure that they were safe from each other. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd stayed, he could have been in a relationship with them both.
"What I want, is a bloody break," Spike bitched, as only he could. "When it isn't Slayers, it's my bloody Sire, the pathetic poof with his grand delusions. I've had to haunt that bastard for months. I'm done looking after you. You lot, you ... you always break down when you lose your women." But his voice faltered there.
Dean wasn't entirely unlike him. And he knew that as well. God. He was bloody done with using a glass. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and drank greedily.