WOW: Pilot. Looks like the brothers are in for an uncomfortable night.
It seems a long, long time since I wrote some good old-fashioned sick Dean and hurty comfort.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and no amount of foot stamping is going to change that.
The blizzard howled across the room as Sam stumbled through the door, stamping snow onto the doormat.
Through the darkness, all that was visible of Dean was an unruly hair tuft emerging from a giant maggot of quilt curled up on his bed.
Deep wet coughs shook the fat bundle of nylon.
"Sorry dude," Sam announced apologetically; "receptionist says pilot light's gone out on the heating, and the engineer can't come 'til tomorrow."
The quilt maggot convulsed around a loud sneeze, and Sam gently placed his own quilt over it, unnoticed.
A night in the cold; a recovered brother.