Directed or not, a window going and exploding in a person's face is enough on its own to get them to flinch. Des' shoulders are up and hands are curled in front of his face pretty much instantly, one foot sliding back a few inches to brace him. He hisses out a "Shit!" and then a "Sorry!" nearly as fast.

(Look, Patrice's momma might not be strictly awake at the moment, but that ain't no reason to go round using that kinda language in front of a lady all the same.)

Commotion's gone just as quick as it came, but he's got no plans of turning his back on the open window. One of his hands slices forward, gesturing broadly. "So that's just happened before, yeah? We're cool with that?"