Aza had balled up into the smallest shape she could, short pointy muzzle shoved between her back feet, and resorted to just praying to whatever fox-god foxes had that she wouldn't get run through or smashed or incinerated. Dean's words were not at all comforting, and it was the second time tonight someone had called her a bitch. What the hell had<em> she</em>done?<em>None</em>of this had been her idea.<br/><br/>And then Donovan had the idiot idea of literally bringing the house down, in what seemed to Aza like the least well-thought-out murder/suicide ever. Her shadowy bonds loosened, maybe as Dean was also forced to contemplate how the entire ceiling sagged and split over their heads, and her opportunity was not wasted. She wormed free of the tendrils and fell to the floor, struggled to her feet in a puddle of hot (and growing hotter) blood, and began a headlong scramble through the weirdly-colored miasma of flames towards the blonde General, because behind Methuseld was the hole that had once been the door and would shortly be flaming rubble. Just like the rest of the place and everyone in it.