A/N: Here's my triple-birthday explosion. It started with sidjack's (the first drabble) and skidded further into sneezy Dean territory from there. Which nobody asked for. I'm sorry. I tried to work in things you guys like too? :) Number two is for iheartSam7, fellow shameless persistent lover of sick boys. Number three is for The Tribble Master, who started in with the hedonistic Cas jokes before the show did. And sid's just a creative, big-hearted h/c junkie extraordinaire.

The dome light snaps on and floods the white cotton taped to Sam's inner arm, the cast on his leg. His face scrunches up like salt on a leech.

"HhhHH... h-how you dewidd, pal?" Dean slides into the driver's seat, tosses their meds between them. "HHHH-HIJSSHSHK!"

"Dean." Sam's voice quavers, his hair crazy like the bible. His palm's on Dean's forehead. "Be healed."

Gently, Dean tucks Sam's arm down. "OK, Boses."

"Hold onto pearls."

Dean shields Sam's fluttering slit-eyes. "I dod't dow what they gave you, but I wadt subb."

"Trout are free..."

"HUH-KGGCHCHHTT!... World's our oyster. Sleep, yugg sailor."

---

"KHHKKHH! KHKHHKH-huh! Hih-KHTCHCHH!"

In the lamplight Sam swallows, watching Dean jerk forward with each sneeze until he's wrapped around his kleenex, fumbling for the box. Sam nudges it closer.

"Uh."

Dean straightens, sniffling, nose redder than before. "What?"

Sam loses him in a wave of spots. "I'm gonna..." He feels for his crutches. A sudden sense of movement suggests he's being manhandled.

When he starts retching, there's a cool hand on his neck. Afterwards a towel falls around his shoulders.

Later he wakes up in bed, his leg throbbing. Dean's holding a tissue, motionless, eyes narrow. "Hhhh... bordigg, s-sudshide... HAH-TCCHCH-CHCHHUGH!"

---

"You are ill."

"I prefer to thigk of it as dasally challedged. Hhhh-TCHOO!"

Castiel cocks his head, watches Dean Winchester engage twice more in the activity known as sneezing. They're taught this is painless. Castiel is privately unsure.

"There's a man," he begins. "In Wyoming. He..."

"Is he... hhhhH... gudda die?"

"No."

"Cas. Look. We deed a day here. Cub back toborrow."

"But he holds..."

"Or stay. Have a drigk. But we're... hhhHHH... d-dot goigg eddywhere 'til we've... hhh-HESHSSHHUH!... slept."

"Alcohol is not recommended..."

"Fide." Dean starts to shut the door.

Castiel opens his mouth.

"Bottoms... up?"

"Dow you're talkigg."