Dean had just finished emptying a .45 and reholstering it before taking a .50 out of his waistband. "I'm good. Don't even need to reload yet. Though if I had to go through a metal detector, I'd be straight fucked." He shot someone in the throat that had gotten too close to the group, chuckling at the recoil. "God, I forgot these babies kick hard." Behind his demeanor, he was a bit sad; werewolves and vampires and wendigos and demons were one thing, but killing humans had never really given Dean any joy. But it needed to be done.