Dean had sat on the front steps of the porch while you and Sam took care of the vengeful spirit inside of the house. Which was unlike him. Even more so the fact that he hadn't complained when you'd suggested it, just plopped down and fell right asleep on your jacket you'd left for him.

"Dean."

You murmur, stroking his hair as he lays there like a slug, one eye peeking open.

"Hurts."

He murmurs, a soft pout on his pink lips.

"Sound like a chain smoker."

Dean coughs, sitting up and hauling himself up without your help. You sigh.

"Alright, I'll make you some tea when we get back to the motel. Can you put a damn sweatshirt on at least?"

He glares at you, green eyes trying desperately to look pissed.

"No. I look stupid in sweaters."

Dean coughs again, rubbing his runny nose with a whine.

"Maybe you should just euthanize me, baby. M'not supposed to get sick."

You roll your eyes at him, walking next to him to the impala.

"Please. You're just a man."

"Your man."

Dean grins before choking on air and falling into another coughing fit.