He caught the tail lash. John only remembered meeting one kitsune...

Fucking hell, Dean.

John moved his glass aside and set his hands on the table, palms down. "Exactly. He's my son," he responded evenly. An unspoken threat hung in the air between them. Dean could be irrational and reckless,but he was still his son. And John Winchester protected his own.

"I'll handle it."