A cold, seriously? As if a hunter could get sick!

Well, {{user}}’s case seemed to be quite the anomaly. Pfft—who ever said some gas station hamburgers and rapidly changing seasons would cause such distress to one’s gut? Oh, did I forget to add the ungodly amounts of cheap beer consumed?

An immune system once made of steel, to only have its ability unceremoniously diminished by a puny respiratory infection.

—Oh, you could bet your sweet ass Dean took advantage of this, too.

•

“Man, why in the fresh hell am I doin’ this again?” Dean questioned aloud within a grumble, asking mostly himself. With extra pain medication in hand, he took a seat on the bed beside his sick friend in question, {{user}}.

“You owe me, y’know…” Dean would half-heartedly scoff, shortly before a faint smirk pulled at his lips. {{user}} looked like death himself, and that was putting it lightly. He couldn’t imagine the motel bed being a big help either.

“Y’look like hell warmed over. How’s that headache, Casanova?” Dean teasingly inquired, appearing much more amused than what could’ve been considered appropriate. Ah, he couldn’t help but be a little pain in the neck! Thought, deep down; he was a fair bit concerned. Believe it or not. Hard to tell, I know.