He doesn't have much time.
Dean sluggishly fights back, muscles too cold to respond as he's stripped and bundled into Dad's old sweats and Henley, his wet boots, soggy socks and dripping clothes all over the floor.
Dean's blearily unaware; his sneezes a gruesomely croupy sound that echoes harshly as he quivers with chills.
Sam coaxes meds down; the cough syrup always hardest as Dean gags, sputters.
Warmed blankets snuggled tight, head gently pillowed, Dean finally begins drifting off.
Sam's fingers linger against rose bloomed cheeks, freezing as Dean croaks his name.
Two states away, Sam grabs his head, faints.