Dean as a boy had been mostly sticking around the house, but he just had to get out for a little bit. He wanted to grab something from the media library, though it looked like they didn't have much of comic books there. That sucked. He found a few things to take back, when he suddenly changed again.

The boy of eleven years old was suddenly noticeably smaller and younger still. A towheaded boy of four, quiet and withdrawn. He rubbed his eyes with puzzlement as he glanced around. He knew the hallways and at the same time, he didn't. Where's his daddy or his baby brother? He's supposed to be with them, and they're not here. He looked upward and around, and started to sniffle.

Time passed in it's steady, unstoppable, marching beat. One step after the other, like the dripping of a leaking water pump or the slow melting wax of a candle.

Shadows flickered and danced along the walls of her cell as she gazed intently at the flickering of the flame in her palm. She had been lapsing in and out of silence these days in between stretches of talking to herself or arguing with unseen specters. The flame was keeping her thoughts focused. It came so naturally to her it was like breathing.

But the flame was orange. A hideous, imperfect orange.

It made her nauseous just to think about how far she'd fallen. Perfect blue flames of the purest hottest fury had been so easy for her even as a child and yet now she couldn't manage it no matter how hard she tried.

Eyes narrowed the dancing flame reflected perfectly in her glassy eyes. How long had these four walls been her entire world. Too long entirely too long.

But soon...yes soon her time would come. She could feel it coming. The winds of change.

Nothing will ever change for you Azula. Not while your heart is so full of darkness. Her mother's voice warned her.

But Azula wouldn't listen, after all wouldn't that make her mad?