A/N: Hey, so, this was for a prompt of dante-s-hell's on LJ, so it's totally for her, but I also want to send it out to Nana56 just because.

"Give me palm trees or give me death."

Sam frowns and watches Dean check the heater for the third time. "Dude. It's on."

Dean's eyes flick to his, then back to the black strip of pavement in his headlights. "This'd be the perfect spot for it to crap out, wouldn't it? Friggin' Montana."

"Could be worse. Could be the North Pole."

Dean shifts in the driver's seat. "What, are you kidding me? You think Santa'd leave our sorry asses to the elements?"

"I don't think Santa mounts rescue missions for kids on the 'coal' list."

Eyebrows up, Dean shakes his head. "Man. That's just c... cuh... hh-HHH-CKCKGZH!"

"Cold?"

Dean pinches his nostrils, then sniffs and wipes his hand on his jeans. "That."

Sam unzips his jacket. He crosses his legs and slouches deeper in the seat. "You catch a bug, there, kiddo?"

"What? No. Why?" A cough bursts out of Dean. It's followed by a rapid string of them. They're hard, falling all over each other, like they've been waiting a long time to get out. When Dean's done, his eyes look wet.

Sam turns to the cool window and considers the moonlit field of snow outside. "No reason."

It's close to ten when Dean pulls into the dodgy-looking gas station. He kills the engine and says, "Your turn."

While Sam's pumping gas he sees Dean lean across to the passenger side and tug open the glove compartment. Dean digs around in there, pushing junk left and right, and produces a couple of napkins. He brings them to his face and leaves them there for awhile. Sam's screwing the cap back in when there's a muffled shout and the car rocks once, faintly. He glances in and sees Dean working the napkins against his nose.

He cracks the passenger door on his way in to pay. "Did you just sneeze so hard it rocked the car?"

Dean pulls the tissues down. "Gee, Sab, let bee check by diary." He mimes opening a book in mid-air and flips through it, the crumpled wad clutched in his palm. "Oh yeah, here's the part I was lookigg for: close the door."

"Why, Dean? Because of your chill?"

"Doe. Because you're gudda get this id the face if you dod't." Sam shuts the door just as he's taking aim.

"Scoot."

Dean shudders, squares his shoulders and squints up at Sam. Their breath fogs between them.

"I'b sorry. Did you just tell bee to scoot?"

"I got you medicine. If you take it you get a treat."

"How about bee dot kickigg your ass? How's that for a treat?"

"This one's better." Sam dangles the plain white plastic bag and watches Dean track it with his eyes.

Sniffling thickly, Dean flips up the collar of his coat and presses it around his throat. "What is it, hotshot?"

"It's a surprise."

Dean's nostrils flare. His eyes lose their focus. "GK-PBPBTZCH!" He leaves his palm clamped around his mouth and nose. "Tell bee there's Kleedex id there."

"Two boxes."

Dean snatches the bag. When Sam starts to sit on him, he moves over.

Sam isn't angling for a year's worth of blackmail material. That's just a happy byproduct.

It starts with some gentle scolding about the chill from the window and the infection Dean's fighting. The cough syrup/flu pill combo's got Dean compliant enough that with a minimum of sleepy grumbling he's flopped down with his ass against the door and the top of his head poking Sam's thigh.

"You can thank me when you don't get pneumonia," Sam says, but Dean's already snoring.

They're sneaking up on Idaho when Sam notices the puddle of drool forming on the leather beside Dean's mouth.

"You're gonna love that."

He eases a tissue out of the box and surreptitiously dabs at the pool, then folds the Kleenex over and wipes again. He checks his work and spots a slick shininess coating the skin between Dean's nose and lip.

"Aw, gross, dude." Sam makes a careful pass at it. It's not careful enough: Dean flinches at the contact and heaves himself upright, gasping and coughing, staring bug-eyed out the windshield. Turning and seeing Sam, he ducks and raises a trembling arm in defense. The hair on the left half of his head is spiked straight up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. Chill out, Dean. You're good, man."

Dean rubs his eyes and takes a breath in through his nose. "Hmmhh."

"Yeah. OK. How you feelin'? Good sleep?"

Blinking quickly, Dean blanches.

"Hey. You gonna spew?"

Dean's face crumples into a frown. He pats the seat beside Sam, finds an elbow and tips down, nuzzles into it.

"Yeah, good. Right. Get your head down."

Dean snuffs an airy sneeze into Sam's arm, arches his back in a catlike stretch, sighs, and starts to snore.

Soon afterwards, the shivers make a comeback. Dean burrows further into Sam's side, slowly working his way up toward the armpit. He oozes a trail of sticky secretions that leaves Sam fantasizing about laundromats. Sam drapes an arm over his disgusting, too-warm brother and self-consciously rubs his side whenever he whimpers.

There are pictures. There are a lot of pictures and they're on Sam's phone. And they'll be useful later. But when Dean wakes up, face screwed up against the bleak Utah morning, head coming out from under Sam's, strands of spit and snot trailing from his nose and mouth to Sam's shoulder, and croaks, "Dude, were we cuddligg?," Sam laughs until he has to pee. The rest is all gravy.

"Add why ab I wearigg your hoodie?"

end

Prompt: Dean and Sam (gen). On the Road to Nowhere, Dean starts to get sick. Sam decides he needs to drive. Dean argues, but Sammy wins (was there any doubt). What I'd really like to see is Dean finally giving in and laying his head on Sam's shoulder, complete with drool and snot staining Sam's t-shirt.

You can get them to a motel and finish the "care" part there. But what I'd really like to see is Sam trying to take care of Dean and drive at the same time. Dean bitching about taking care of the Impala would be bonus!

Double bonus: Sam wraps Dean in his hoodie!