A/N: For the fever meme on LJ. Love me some fever meme.

"Is that everything?"

Dean fishes out his wallet, considers the two styrofoam cups on the counter. His eyes skitter up the cashier's breasts, over the blond hair feathered around her ears.

She smiles, raises her eyebrows. Her lips are so pink.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" Dean shivers, feels his face bloom with heat. "You live in... town?"

"Uh, yeah."

"S'good." Dean licks dry lips. "Good town."

"It's all right."

She's frowning, two little frowny lines cutting in between her brows, like Sam, but on her it's adorable. He wants to kiss them, wants to lick them and see how they taste.

A wave of white spots washes her out. He grips the edge of the checkout station. His ears fill up with a steady electric tone.

"Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath, blinks her back into view. "Yeah. No, I. Yeah. Just the coffee, thanks."

He spills it all on the sidewalk on the way back to the car, crawls sweating into the driver's seat.

He feels surprisingly well.

:::

"Fake glasses? Really, Dean?"

"Hey, I gotta look the part." Dean spins the rack, snatches up a pair of aviators. "Sam," he grins, modelling the shades. "Check it out."

Sam fixes him with a doubtful gaze. "What are you, Tom Cruise?"

"Only handsomer."

That's when Dean sees her, a sexy businesswoman type, white blouse unbuttoned far enough Dean lowers the sunglasses for a better look.

Sweat stands out on his forehead.

Sam follows his stare, shakes his head when he sees where Dean's looking. "Do you ever think about anything else?"

Sexy Businesswoman tries on a pair of chunky red geek chics, examines herself in the mirror. Dean pushes his own frames back up, the lights suddenly too bright.

"Hey. Dean."

"What're..." Dean looks around for something to lean against. "What?"

"You all right? You don't look so good."

"That's, uh..." Dean's lips are tingling. He rubs his mouth. "What?"

Sam looms over him like the Empire State Building. "Easy. Easy."

:::

The room's getting nasty. They load everything of a dubious nature back into the car and let the maid in.

"This is ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I thought your brain was gonna fry."

"So what, I had a hot flash. Big deal."

"Men don't get hot flashes, Dean."

Dean wrinkles his nose, bobs his knee. "Meat sweats?"

"Meat..." Sam's brows dance over his forehead. He sighs, pushes back his hair. "You haven't had meat since breakfast. Just take it easy while I do a little digging."

The housekeeper emerges from the bathroom, dumps their used towels onto her cart and plucks a freshly folded set off her stack. She smiles at Dean. Her face gives off a faint glow of exertion. She turns back to the sink.

His eyes find her ass. And stay there.

"Hey. Hey, hey."

A chill jitters through Dean. His hands feel numb. Coat. He should not be wearing his coat.

"Dean." Sam's fingers are cool on his face, on his neck where they dig for a pulse. "God. You're burning up again. C'mon, lay down. Talk to me, man. What's going on?"

Dean never noticed the textured swirls in the ceiling paint before. His eyes rake incredulously over the careful ridges.

"Whoa, hey. Stay with me."

"Everything okay?"

"Uh. Yeah." Sam turns to talk to the cleaner. He has a noble profile. It would look right on a dollar bill. "I'm sorry, do you mind leaving us alone?"

"No problem."

Sam's unbuttoning Dean's shirt when the door clicks shut. Dean blinks, passes a hand down his face. He sniffs up a deep breath and lets it out. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"What just happened?"

"You're okay." Sam's palm cups his forehead. His brows go up. "Huh. You're okay."

:::

"That was so not funny."

"It was a little funny."

"It was not, you sk-"

"Ah-ah-ah." The witch waggles a well-manicured finger. "It's talk like that that got you into this mess."

Prompt: Dean is put under some kind of spell/curse wherein he spikes a high fever whenever he's near an attractive woman. It takes a few embarrassing/pathetic encounters before he and Sam and/or John figure it out.