Let Me Take Care of You
He couldn't unlock the door fast enough.
Five minutes ago, after ten long seconds of no response to his urgent Sam?'s, Dean had cursed and snapped his phone shut to make for their room as fast as he could.
His hurried fumbling of the lock wasn't getting him anywhere, but he didn't dare break down the door, not knowing where Sam was, possibly collapsed nearby.
Turned out his caution was justified as the knob finally snicked open, but Dean wasn't thinking about that anymore, as he was already inside and his brother was laid practically at his feet. "Sam!" On his knees behind Sam, Dean reached out to carefully turn him onto his back, nearly recoiling at the fever emanating from him. Sam's face was ashen but his skin burned to the touch as he pressed his fingers at Sam's pulse point: dangerously fast.
This was... Dean clenched his teeth, forcing the anger down. These trials... "Sammy," he chastised quietly. Dean didn't know how it was possible, but judging from his experience and from the heat coming off his brother, Sam's body temperature must be...106, 107? God, Sam.
There was no time; his brain was going to fry. Wasting none, Dean slid a hand under his little brother's broad shoulders and the other arm under his knees, and hoisted up. The trials had really taken a lot out of Sam, because he wasn't as heavy as Dean expected. But he still moved as quickly as possible in his stagger to the bathroom. He didn't slow down but to gingerly prop Sam inside the tub before he turned on the cold tap at full force and was running back out to find anything that could carry ice.
It took multiple trips from an ice machine down the hall, even using an emptied duffel bag, to fill the tub with enough. Sam was as still as before through all this, his fatally high fever melting through a layer of ice by the time Dean was done. Dean cupped a hand over his forehead, fear ratcheted higher by the persistent heat and the fact that Sam hadn't woken up yet. He ran his free hand down his own face, fighting an inner battle with indecision and panic.
"C'mon, Sam, wake up." Sam wouldn't last much longer, not with his head still too hot under Dean's skin. Desperation finally won over; Dean didn't like it, but it had to be done. "'M sorry, Sammy," he murmured. With both hands he gently eased Sam down until he was completely submerged.
Dean hovered, tense and waiting—either for Sam to revive or to snatch him back up before he drowned. He held his breath while his heart drummed out half seconds. If this doesn't—
Then it skipped a beat when Sam suddenly lurched upright with a gasp. But all Dean could feel was relief as he reached for his brother. Maybe this time Sam would let him take care of him.