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Last Rites Deferred

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"I won't," Dolls gasped, then his eyes met hers, then his head dropped. Limp. Unconscious.

"That's likely—" Doc's words choked off too. Wynonna couldn't look at him.

"Help me get him down." There were nails through his wrists, and Wynonna didn't think she should pull them out. "Need something to cut the boards."

"Wynonna, he can't..." Instead of doing anything goddamn useful, Doc braced himself against the side of the barn and kissed Dolls' bloody lips. Neither moved. "I am sorry," he whispered.

"Fuck 'sorry'! He won't die," Wynonna snapped, yanking Doc away. "We won't let him. Find a saw."