Dean groaned as Sam pulled the blankets off.
He didn't want to take a shower.
He didn't want any soup.
And most of all, he didn't want anyone to come within ten feet of him right now.
He felt well and truly miserable, and just wanted to wallow in it for a while.
His joints ached, his throat was on fire, and his nose was so sore, he was afraid to ever touch it again.
"Sam, lea'me 'lone." Dean mumbled, as he tried to pull the blankets back over him.
Try as he might to get them back, he didn't have the strength, and collapsed back onto the pillows.
"Shower Dean, you need a shower." Sam practically insisted.
Dean just lay on the bed. Exhausted.
Done for.
He didn't move, he just lay there staring at the ceiling as if it was his job.
"C'mon Dean," Sam pleaded. "I'm gonna heat this soup up for you. It's chicken noodle, just like Dad used to make when we were little and we were sick."
"He never made it Sammy, I did." Dean grumbled back, none too happy about the thought of any kind of food right now.
"Nghh" Sam, no soup."
Dean seized his chance, as Sam had walked back over to the kitchenette, grabbing the blankets and burying himself back under them.