A/N: This was rei17's idea.
"You poor dear," their landlady proclaims, and Dean throws Sam an uneasy look. "Sit down. I'll put the kettle on."
Dean starts in with a hoarse objection, but his voice gives out. With a cluck and a head-shake, she totters closer, feels his forehead.
"Poor thing," she croons. He's pale, startled, rapt. "And glands like melons! A cup of tea, and it's up to bed with you."
Dean turns, sneezes emphatically into his sleeve: "Ehh-KHSHHH! KSHSHH! KHSHH-huh!"
She plucks him out three tissues. "And you let him work today?" she scolds Sam. "Just sit, honey-love."
Dean sniffles, beams, and sits.
end