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[Soul Survivor]

In a hospital, a priest said a blessing. "Hunc sanguinem sacro, et donatibus sanguinem, debita demitto. Dolorem remitteat et voluntati de serviat." He put the crucifix to his lips, then nodded to Sam and Kennedy who were both wearing a white coat, who nodded back. The priest walked out of the room. "Doctor."

"Father," Sam and Kennedy said.

Sam and Kennedy walked over and picked a cooler and he filled it with donated blood.

---

They drove from the hospital back to the bunker.

---

They went down to the dungeon where Dean was strapped to a chair in the middle of a Devil's Trap on the floor.

"Really?" Dean scoffed.

Sam shrugged. "For whatever it's worth, we got your blood type."

"Sam, Kennedy, I know you think you're gonna try and fix me, but... did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to be fixed? Just let me go live my life. I won't bother you two. What do you two care?"

"What do I care?" Sam and Kennedy retorted.

Sam got the holy water and splashed it on the floor as he started chanting in Latin.

Dean looked at him as he said, "You think I'm just gonna sit here like Crowley? Getting all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don't want this!"

"Yeah, I figured that out pretty quick," Sam replied.

"You don't even know if this is gonna work, do you?" Dean shot back. "You know, I got a hell of a lot more running through me than just demon juice."

"Mark of Cain, got it."

"That's right."

Sam had a syringe of blood in his hand as he walked closer to Dean. "Buckle up."

"Sammy... You know I hate shots."

"I do too, but we hate demons more."

Dean's eyes went black for a second before Sam hit him with holy water. Sam plunged the needle into Dean's arm and Dean groaned as the syringe contents were emptied into his arm.

"Look, I got a whole bunch more of these to go," Sam said. "You could make it a lot easier on yourself."

Dean's eyes widened as he grunted and groaned, the blood already affecting him.

Kennedy glanced at Dean before turning to Sam. "I can't watch this. Let me know if anything changes."

Sam nodded. "'Course."

---

Hannah watched as Castiel drove. They smiled at each other. Castiel was pale, and didn't look up to par.

"How are you holding up?" Hannah asked.

"Fine," Castiel answered.

"You say you're fine, but you don't... look fine."

"It's what the humans do," Castiel said. "They say they're fine. And even if I -- I don't look it, you say I look well, and that way, we avoid talking about something we can do nothing about."

"I'm sorry. I just can't see how Sam and Kennedy Winchester could ask you to drive all this way to help with his brother, her husband, knowing your condition." Castiel glanced at Hannah, then turned back to the road. "They don't know... about how badly your borrowed grace is fading, do they?"

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