Sam slid the thermometer into Dean's mouth.

"Not sick." He mumbled without fervor, voice raw and ravaged from coughing.

Sam tucked in the extra blanket. Snotty Kleenex laid siege to the bed.

"Feel f-fine." Three aborted sneezes. Dean shifted restlessly in bed, twisting covers, achy and chilled.

Sam dosed out Tylenol and Nyquil.

"I'm good." Deep hacking cough that made Sam's chest ache.

Sam pulled up the blankets, sliding extra socks on cold feet. Dean was out, congested snores and faint peanut whistling squeaks.

Sam frowned, knuckles brushing short blond hair.

"Glad you're not sick or I'd be worried."