When the demon finally spilled, it was a flood of hot relief despite the humiliation of the event. It meant this part of the ordeal was over, that there could be a pause in the agony, a moment for him to lick his wounds. Eliot fell forward when shoved, the pain of impacting with the unforgiving ground expressed in a cut off cry and a low groan, but he stayed where he was. He could probably still fight and catch Sam by surprise, had fought through worse injuries in life, but not when there was no victory to be had. There was no escape, no greater mission, nobody who was counting on him to get up and keep fighting.

He closed his eyes, letting the futility of his situation wash over him for a second. He was condemned to an eternity in Hell, given to this demon to be a plaything until he broke and did as he was told. Eliot didn't know how long that would be, a month, a year, a decade, a century... He honestly doubted it would take that long, at least, not if he was to remain himself and still capable of doing what they wanted. But that war he will keep fighting, because there are people counting on him for that; he stopped with the hurting and killing people. He wasn't that man anymore.

For now.

But for this fight he could afford a reprieve, to succumb the pain and humiliation to save himself worse at the moment. So what if he was successful in striking back, so what if he broke Sam's neck. There was no escape from hell. No, the fight was to not surrender to the demon, and that Eliot could do laying with his eyes closed and not moving his broken arm.