A/N: E/O Challenge ("worn"). PlatinumRoseLady, this one's all yours. Feel better soon!
The world's a dirty white, with more flakes falling.
"Dude. No snot on my leather," Dean admonishes, shaking the cough syrup for him. "Keep the germ fiesta to yourself."
Dosed up, worn out, Sam drifts, his head tipped to the cold passenger window. When his nose throbs again, he shoves a sleeve-swaddled fist beside it. "Uck-KHSHSHH-uh! Uh-KHFFF!""
He coughs, sits up, and drags an arm under his nose. Blinks at the window, and registers a telltale splatter.
Feverish, heart thudding, he smudges it around. Falls asleep, and dreams of Dean tapping on his window, one eyebrow raised, squeegee in hand.
Scene.