Dean turned and looked up at Cas from the couch, Sam standing to await whatever news he had brought.
"She is…sick," Cas frowned, "I've tried everything in my power to help. It will continue to hurt her until she dies."
"So, what, she's just sick for the rest of her life?" Dean blinked.
"It won't last long, Dean."
He paused before frowning, "Please tell me that it's not killing her."
"That'd be a lie," he said as Sam sat back down and held his face in his hands.
Dean was silent before he stood and walked up the stairs, knocking before entering and finding her asleep and pale, small scars and bruises fading from her skin. He kneeled next to her bed, playing with a few strands of her hair before sighing and clasping his hands, placing his forehead there.
"Please, just help her. She's been through so much already, regardless of this. Don't make her suffer even more because I wanted to go walk around for a bit. Somebody up there, please, help her."
"Look, Bobby, we've got a friend, and we were wondering if you knew of someway to heal them."
"Not a doctor," he grumbled from the other end.
"This isn't some common cold, Bobby," Dean stated, "A dark wizard got to her. Said some spell and apparently she'll be sick for the rest of her life – and not some sore throat, headache sick – she can barely get out of bed."
"Then I'm no help, boys," he said after a pause, "From what Sammy tells me about your little girlfriend, she's powerful enough to be able to fix herself if it could be fixed. What'd Castiel say?"
"She doesn't have long to live," Sam announced as a thumping sound was heard overhead, making Dean sigh and stand.
"Find somebody who could help, I've got to go," he said, going up the staircase and opening the door to find her sitting on the floor with her back against the side of her bed, holding her head in her hands and breathing heavily. "Hermione, you can't – "
"No, just," she cut him off, holding up a hand, "Just stop. I can do this." She began to reach for the corner of the bed to help her stand, wobbling as Dean moved to guide her and catch her if she fell. She was nearly standing upright before she collapsed into his chest, making Dean scoop her up and settle her back into bed.
"Hermione," he sighed when she huffed and pouted, "You're sick."
"I can get over it," she insisted before going into a coughing fit, doubling over and clamping her hand over her mouth, tugging her knees up.
Dean rubbed her back, looking at her worriedly, "You so sure about that?"
She spoke hoarsely, still with her hand over her mouth, "I was in a war, I fought back, I got over abusive boyfriends, I can get over being sick." She pulled her hand away, sucking in a breath when she saw the blood on her palm.