Mary's breath hitched as her heart contracted inside her chest, tightly, impossibly, and wouldn't release. It was instinctual to want to throw her head back, to gasp, but her body was frozen and all she could do was scrabble her fingertips frantically against the floor, nails scraping against concrete as her vision went black. Being a hunter for so long her body had always been at her command even more than that of another healthy young person, having it turn traitor on her was almost as terrifying as the pain. Long after it had unclenched, started beating at double time as if to make up for the cessation, her breath came out ragged.
She tuned out his threats as best she could, thinking tactics, keeping calm, trying not to fight the paralytic until she absolutely had to. Keep taking stock. No door. No windows. I'll have to force him to teleport me back out. Just have to get control. The bed, I could take it apart, use the slats as a weapon if he... her thoughts cut off abruptly as Azazel leaned closer, as his whispers turned to Sam. That's not working on me, she thought, steeling herself against the words, because if you're here taunting me he's safe. He's safe.
Then, suddenly, his lips were pressed against hers and she couldn't help herself, paralytic be damned she tried to wrench away or fight back. She tried to open her mouth and bite down on his lip but all she could do was part her lips enough to gasp, to exhale air she couldn't get back. God no, I can't her vision blurred and dimmed, her chest burned, but that was nothing next to the disgust, the shuddering that couldn't actually manifest in her skin, the helplessness against it. When he pulled away she squeezed her eyes shut. The finger dragged down her cheek was a mockery of every time her father had taken her temperature or tucked her in mixed disturbingly, revoltingly, with the way John would cup her cheek to bring her attention back or just to linger after they'd kissed...
No. She pushed the associations from her mind and made herself open her eyes and look at Azazel like he wasn't wearing her father's face, like he was any demon she had to fight. “What do you want?” she managed, voice thick and slow like it was coming from behind a gag, words formed with a partially-paralyzed tongue.