A/N: Last one from the fever meme. :)
Sam's still wiping scorpius-guts off his hands when he finds him.
"Dean."
He's propped against a wall in the first-floor hallway, puffing into the smooth beige tile work. His eyes are screwed shut, his fist white around a lock pick. Behind him a supply closet stands open.
"Dean!"
Dean starts, gives a funny half-hop against the wall and snaps a glassy gaze onto his brother. The pick comes up, gripped like a knife.
Palms spread, Sam takes the last few steps slowly. "Easy, easy. It's okay. You're okay." He coaxes the weapon out of hot fingers, soothes sweaty hair back from a burning forehead. "Hey. Nice work, Houdini."
Dean flinches back, executes another shuffle-jump and almost falls. Sam presses him up against the wall, holds him steady. That's when he sees the blood.
"Okay." He ghosts a palm over the tear in Dean's black T-shirt, lifts the material for a look underneath. "That's where he got you. No problem. Doesn't look deep."
Dean's right hand latches onto Sam for support. His left, the side with the gash in it, doesn't budge.
"C'mere. C'mere." Sam cozies up to Dean's bad side, points him toward the exit. "Let's blow this joint, huh?"
:::
"I don't know where it went."
Dean's voice quavers like sheet metal in the dark car. Sam glances at him, pats his overheated thigh.
"Hey. What'd you lose?"
The only sound is the steady hum of the engine.
"Dean?"
His right hand's choking the door grip. His eyes are huge and bright. "I needed it."
"Whoa, hey." Sam ghosts the backs of his fingers over Dean's feverish temple. "Relax, man. We've got everything we need right here."
Dean snuffles. "How can you tell?"
Sam rubs slow circles over Dean's heart.
:::
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."
Dean writhes on the bed, holy water and peroxide foaming pink onto the sheets. Sam braces his right elbow, watches his right leg kick out.
"Shh. Shhhh. I know it sucks. I know."
Tears stream from Dean's right eye.
"Okay. Okay, uh. Let's take a break."
:::
"Hey."
Dean blinks up at Sam, sighs and buries his cool face in Sam's armpit. "Hnmh."
"Hungry?"
His ribcage expands with a four-tiered breath, deflates in a monumental yawn.
"How you feeling?"
"Fine."
Sam strokes down his white T-shirt, his pale arm. "Fine, huh?"
"Mm." Dean wriggles closer to Sam. His left hand pulls the sheet up.
Sam smoothes it over his shoulders, pushes out a breath. "Me too."
Prompt: Dean is poisoned/infected by a supernatural creature whose venom causes fever, disorientation, partial paralysis, hallucinations, etc. All things that make the victim easier to entrap. Except Sam finds him first and h/c ensues, awww.