Oh Wash felt the pressure of that fist alright. And there was even a little pain that bled through the fogginess of inebriation, but mostly all it did was make him dizzier than he already was. And the alcohol made him apathetic of it.
Letting go of the stool and staring at it for a moment as if it had betrayed him he went at Jesse again. It was a wild attack built up completely by adrenaline as he aimed his fists and grabbed at anything he could of the man to injure in some way.
It was nearly comical in a way, face beet red with anger and drunkenness, animalistically slamming his fists at him while stumbling himself against the bar.
Lack of care for pain and lack of sensation of most of it would be his greatest assets in this ultimately losing fight. And Wash might not do it very often, but his instincts in fighting were pretty good. He wasn't trained, but he knew how to throw a punch and knew where to strike. He wasn't completely clueless and as vicious as he was, he might not win but he'd sure get a few good hits.
"'T's your fault!" he spat in the heat of the brawl, spittle spritzing from his lips.