Dean's digging in his pocket for the keys. He frowns, seems to stop breathing. Then he gasps and buries an enormous sneeze in his elbow.
"HHHHH-DZZHZHHZHHSH!"
Waiting at the passenger door, Sam comes in his pants.
"We're so sorry about your wife." Beside Sam on the couch, Dean burbles into a tissue. "We just have a couple more questions for the insurance claim."
The widower nods.
"Hhhh... huh-h... hh-HHHH-HIDZSSSCHK!"
Sam decorates the inside of his boxers.
"Where's your rest room?"
"Hh-IHHH... ahhh." Dean sniffles and tosses the remote in a spinning flip, catches it easily.
"You coming down with something?"
"It's fuckin' summer." Dean plucks a Kleenex from the box and blows his nose with his free hand.
"I just... you look like you could use a bowl of soup."
Dean steals a glance at him, then snorts. "Probably. Ih-HHHHH..."
Sam's cock twitches.
"AHHH-HADSHSSHHHUH!"
"Be right back."
"The friends all feel right to me. That husband, though... he seems kinda chill for somebody who just lost his wife."
"I guess."
Dean glances over, drags a tissue under his nose and runs a yellow light. "What's with you?"
"We know what you did. The hit man routine, but also..." Sam's cheeks are hot. "Tell us how to fix it."
The witch just stirs her coffee.
"So much for Plan A," Dean says, and breaks her neck.
"HH..." Dean mashes a palm against his nose. "Heh-HHH..."
Sam swallows and pinches his own thigh, hard.
"Hrrrhhh... RHH-HISZZSSHSHHIK!"
Sam blinks. "Not fixed, dude."
"My... ejaculate, and Dean's snot? Bobby... are you sure that'll work?"
Dean's gone really still in his seat. His red nose flares with a sharp inhale.
"Don't, man." Sam glances at their waitress, who's serving hash browns and eggs to the next table over.
"HH-hgh. Cad't help it, dude." A napkin's poised and ready. "HHHH-RR-HRRRRSHSHSHOOO!" He squints watery eyes open. "Well? Eddythigg?"
Sam drops his head to his folded arms.
"Sab?" Dean blows his nose and coughs out a crackly chuckle. "You deed to go cleed up?"
"No."
"Thedd, what?"
Sam pushes his hands through his hair and straightens, lets Dean see his blushing face. "Pavlov, man."
Dean quirks an eyebrow. He snuffles thickly.
"Just... don't do that."
