"Dean. You need to do something about this flu, man," Impala-Sam nags. "We passed a clinic about fifteen minutes ago, just turn around."

"No," Dean says, and preemptively lifts his foot off the accelerator, braces himself. He inhales and sneezes, powerfully, three in a row. When it's over, he sniffles loudly and wipes the snot leaking from his nose with his sleeve, tries to see the road through his bleary, watering eyes. "I'm fine, really. Let's just find this stupid witch. I want my baby back already, not this mutant car-brother," he gestures vaguely toward the radio.

"I know you have a fever, you know. I can feel it, you're sitting on me... in me?"

"Aw, Sammy, are you saying I have a hot ass?" Dean leers. And sneezes some more.

"Alright, that's it," Sam's voice says through the Impala's radio. The car's wheel turns abruptly, and the accelerator presses down, despite Dean's attempts to stop them. The Impala does a 180, and Dean's mutant car-brother steers them through the snow back the way they came.

Twenty minutes of yelling and slow, careful driving later, they're parked right in front of Addison Park Community Clinic.

"Fine. I'll just sit here then, until you let me drive again. Away from this stupid clinic, because I am not sick. You might have driven me here, but you can't make me get out of the car." Dean folds his arms and fights the urge to stick his tongue out.

"Really? You think I can't force you out of here?" Impala-Sam challenges, and Dean can almost see Sam's bitchface through the radio.

"Well, no, unless you had ejector seats installed without me knowing. Which, I admit would actually be pretty awesome."

There's static as the FM radio turns on, and starts flicking through stations. Dean hears snippets of Zeppelin, some commercials, some hip hop before Sam settles on a station. Wake me up, before you go-go...

"Oh, no. No no no no. Not Wham! ...Sam. Come on," Dean begs, but it doesn't do any good. The music just keeps getting louder. I'm not planning on going solo, the radio desperately starts turning nobs and pressing buttons, but he knows it won't do any good. He even tries taking the keys out of the car, but they're stuck. The volumes up as high as it can go, now.

Wake me up, before you go-go, take me dancing tonight.

He's out of the car and in the door of the clinic before the singer hits his falsetto. Dean turns around, flips his car-brother off, and disappears inside with a sneeze.