There was no escape, Eliot knew, there was little point in actually fighting altogether, not when there was nowhere to go, no escape from hell, no escape from this room. Sam had locked the door when he came in, Eliot remembered seeing that very clearly, and whatever mechanism it was, he wasn't getting it open. But he couldn't just let Sam do whatever he wanted either, he just couldn't.

So now he had the suited demon pinned, his own arm hurting like a sonuvabitch because clearly it wasn't completely healed, and there was nothing to follow up. Still, he brought his face close to Sam's and growled. "Lea'me alone. Torture me, fine, but lea'me outta your sick games."

He applied more pressure, a move that, if it had been on a human, would possibly risk crushing the larynx. But they were in hell and Eliot knew he didn't have to hold back on his more lethal instincts. If 'killing' the demon would knock it out, then Eliot may have earned himself a few more hours of rest. That wasn't a bad deal.