The first one was intense.
"Aaaaa-chooonnnttzzz!"
The second knocked him off his feet.
"Uh, aauh-chutththssztts".
Staggering upright, Sam grabs the Kleenex, limping unsteadily back to bed.
"Blow."
Dean turns his head away, grunting. Scraped, swollen fingers guide him back around.
"Dude, blow."
Dean swallows painfully, gives in. Sam wipes his face clean; checks sutured, bandaged wrists, forces meds.
"Thuggs..." Dean shivers.
"Yeah, this sucks. Cold spells suck. You pissing witches off before we kill them sucks, Dean." Sam shakes his head. Smiling, he gingerly lies down again, snuggling Dean close as possible against his cracked ribs.
"No more sneezing, dude."