Sam lay flat on his back on the dingy motel bed, hands folded over his stomach. He breathed in laboriously and paused, exhaling warm breath through pursed lips.
He resisted the urge to groan, anything more than a shallow breath and he felt like his stomach would revolt.
He only had to hang on for a few more minutes, then he could make the mad dash to the bathroom to die in peace.
"Uh, I know you have the flu, Sammy, but you might want to wait a few before going in," Dean winked as his brother flew past him.