Becca just stared at him as he retreated. Part of her was screaming at him for being stupid, and reckless, and going off after Azazel half-cocked. Part of her wished she could give him some further advantage, but what more did she have to offer? The knife? That would have been tantamount to signing her own death certificate.
She just hoped he would get smart and call that Natalie again--but he was a Winchester. It was a fool's hope.
Frustrated, she overturned the coffee table, scattering the ashy remnants of the mat across the carpet in her passion, leaving her purse forgotten on the living room floor as she stalked to her bedroom--where she wrestled with herself until she eventually passed out from exhaustion.