The floor is covered with tissues, little white crumples everywhere Dean looked.
"Dude," He addressed the bundle of blankets in the center of the bed, "Is the trash can too much to ask?"
A mop of dark hair and pair of glaring blue eyes appeared, "Yes."
"You're not the only person who uses this room you know." Dean picked his way across the room to stand by the bed.
Cas turned up his glare by a few notches, "But I am the only one who's sick. If you come any closer I'll cough on you and you can share my pain."
"I need sleep, Cas." Dean said as he slid under the covers, "And I'm sure I already caught your germs." He pressed a hand to Cas's forehead, "At least you don't have a fever."
Cas snuggled in, tucking his head under Dean's chin. "I'm really cold." Came a mumble from somewhere near Dean's collarbone. Dean wrapped his arms tighter around the fallen angel, resigning himself to another day in.