A/N: Extreme gratuitousness warning. Possible innuendo. Read at risk of confusion or inexplicable steaminess.
The sneezes are like aftershocks: tight little bursts of air and warm snot, twitching through Dean, making him keep the tissue there, just keep it there because he's not finished, may never be finished.
"'Swrong with you," Sam soothes in the dark, across the gap between their beds.
"TSSHSH! HTCHCH! ...Duthigg. Sdot city. 'Sfide."
"You sick? Take a cold pill."
"HFFFHHSH! Ehh, 'sOK."
A sigh. Sam's breaths even out and Dean's keep rushing out of him, quiet explosions that tingle in his nose and wet his lips.
He blows his nose softly and takes a new kleenex - holds it ready.