It's not that she isn't ready for something—a jarring, possibly hellishly annoyed, snap back to consciousness of some kind—but she wasn't expecting the whirl of Dean turning at the touch to suddenly connect a half second later with the white-black-searing explosion of pain to the side of her face the next second. Before she can stagger against the pain and register the blood on her tongue, it comes again, and the world is cast backward into a downward tumble.

Her hips, her shoulder, and her head slam into the ground, with the weight of Dean over her, as she's strangling out a gasp of his name. "Dean!" Extreme vertigo added to the disorientation, and the growing wave of pain (and something giving a definitive c r u n c h, screaming under her skin), sent up a wave of nausea that's burning, blistering bile at the back of her throat.

But even that only last in conscious focus long enough before there are fingers around her throat, digging into that skin, and she may not even get that far. Fear and desperate preservation make one thing cogent as he punches her again, and that's to fight back in whatever way she can. Hands shoving at him, knees pulling up to kick any part of his lower body she can connect with. She tries to swear something with it, but that goddamn hand (too strong, superhumanly strong) has all of her air, and its not letting her get more yet.