A/N: I just realized that, since this story was written for a prompt, that it would be helpful if I actually included the prompt. So here it is: "Dean is hiding that a lingering cold has turned into pneumonia to go on a hunt (possibly following Sam and/or John without them knowing?) in the middle of a howling storm. Possibly delusions, maybe passing out in some anonymous stretch of bush. Sam or John finds Dean after a frantic search and comfort is hidden within gentle Sammy snark and/or concerned John quasi-orders."
Hope that clears things up a little.
x0x0x
John's relieved when the boys stumble into his line of sight, but that only lasts until he gets a good look at Dean. Dean's hunched over, one arm over Sam's shoulder, the other clutching his chest. His face is a pale, sickly gray except for the bright red flush on both cheeks and the drying blood on his forehead. He wants to be angry at Dean for being so fucking stupid but that can wait until Dean's safely in the hospital with oxygen and a shitload of antibiotics.
When Dean trips over a fallen branch, John rushes forward and grabs him before he can hit the forest floor. Dean coughs miserably and John shifts him into a more upright position. Dean slumps against him, not even trying to hold his own weight. Sam adjusts his grip on Dean and shoots John a worried look over Dean's shoulder. "He's getting worse. He can't take much more of this."
"I'm aware of that, thank you," John snaps without thinking. Sam's eyes darken but he says nothing. Dean starts coughing, a deep, rough hacking that sounds like it's tearing him apart, and the conflict is quickly forgotten. John makes an executive decision. "Carrying him's gonna be faster. Grab his legs." Sam immediately complies. Dean groans weakly. John can't tell if it's pain or embarrassment. Six of one, half dozen of the other, probably.
Fortunately, the trail slopes gently downward from this point forward, so it doesn't take them as long to get to the lake as it could have. Sam heaves a sigh of relief when he sees the truck parked atop the boat ramp. "Thank God. We're almost there, Dean."
They set Dean on his feet next to the passenger door. Dean's barely conscious and Sam struggles to keep him standing. John starts the truck, turns the heat on full blast, then slides across the bench seat and opens the door. Together they wrestle Dean onto the seat; he's dead weight in their arms. He starts coughing and John stares in horror at the bright red speckles that appear on Dean's lips. The closest hospital is in Coudersport, 40 miles away. With the rain still falling steadily, it'll take about an hour to get there. He's just got to keep Dean warm, dry, and, oh yeah, breathing.
x0x0x
Sam wraps the woolen blanket around Dean's shoulders. He doesn't see what good it's going to do when Dean's clothes are soaked through, but he keeps his mouth shut. Dean shivers spastically under his hands and Sam can see his teeth chattering even though he can't hear it over the roar of the heater that's currently blowing cold air.
"Try to keep him awake," says Dad as they start down the poor excuse for a road that leads out of the park.
Sam gently taps Dean's cheek, surprised at how warm his skin still is despite spending hours in the cold rain. That can't be a good sign. "Hey, man, you still with us?"
"'f I...hafta be," Dean rasps, barely audible. He coughs wetly and Sam pushes him up as straight as he can. "Hurts."
Sam swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. "I know," he says softly. "But you can take it. You're tough, right? Tougher than me, you're always saying."
One corner of Dean's mouth turns up slightly. "Whiny...li'l bitch," he murmurs.
Sam grins. "Yeah, that's right. So you gotta show me how it's done. You can do it. Just stay awake a little longer. Keep me company. You know how it is, driving on these back roads--boring as shit."
"Not th'way...Dad's drivin'."
John chuckles, but it sounds forced. Sam appreciates the effort all the same. "Yeah, Dad's always had a lead foot. Remember that time he got pulled over in Ohio?"
Dean coughs. "I tot'ly...saved his ass."
"Yeah, that was a stroke of genius," Sam replies with a smile. Dean had come up with the idea of yanking out one of his barely loose teeth so it would bleed all over the place. He'd done it in school a couple of times to get out of language arts period. It worked like a charm, too--instead of talking his way out of a ticket, Dad had ended up talking his way out of taking Dean to the hospital. Dad took them out for ice cream that night, and although he claimed the two things weren't related, Sam had later figured out that they totally were. Dad always obeyed the speed limits in Ohio after that.
Dean coughs so hard that blood spatters on Sam's arm. "Dad!" he shouts, alarmed.
Dad doesn't look up. "Calm down, Sammy. Panicking's not gonna help your brother." He lays a hand on Dean's knee. "Hang in there, kiddo," he says quietly. "We're gonna get you help. You just gotta keep up your end of the bargain and breathe, all right?"
"'m tryin..." Dean gasps. "Can't...'t hurts."
"Shallow breaths, Dean," barks Dad, and now they're back on familiar ground. "Sam, count seconds. In on odds, out on evens. You can do this, son. Listen to your brother." He nods at Sam.
Sam takes a deep breath and starts counting. He's up to 56 when another car comes around the bend. The approaching headlights give him an opportunity to really look at Dean, and what he sees makes him shudder. Dean's lips are blue where they're not covered in dried blood and his cheeks are so red they look burned. He lays a hand on Dean's forehead; it's completely dry and practically blistering hot. Sam draws his hand back, feeling nauseous. "Dad, he's not--he can't--"
"He will," Dad insists, voice dangerously low. Sam falls back against the seat as Dad pushes the accelerator to the floor.
x0x0x
Sam could swear that an hour has passed, but when he glances at the clock he sees it's only been five minutes. He has no clue where they are, has to take it on faith that Dad knows where he's going. Dean's unconscious and fading fast. His head lolls on Sam's shoulder, his desperately weak breaths barely tickling Sam's neck. He knows Dad's pushing the truck to its limits, but he has the horrible feeling it's not going to be enough.
He sees light in the distance. They're approaching civilization, thank God. Dad eases off the accelerator, drops his speed from three digits to two. "Hold on," Sam whispers. "We're almost there. Keep fighting." He feels pressure on his shoulder; for a second he thinks Dean heard him and nodded. But Dean's body jerks and his head snaps back and Sam comes to the sickening realization that Dean's having a fucking seizure.
"He's seizing!" Sam slides one hand behind Dean's head and uses the other to push his upper body back against the seat. The convulsions last another 30 seconds or so and then Dean crumples sideways towards Dad. Sam pulls him back to lean against his side. "Dad, hurry," Sam gasps.
Dad drives triple the speed limit and runs every red light. Finally, after what seems like years, they pull into the hospital parking lot. Dad brings the truck to a screeching halt in front of the emergency entrance and gathers Dean into his arms without a word. He's through the sliding glass doors before Sam can even get out of the passenger seat. By the time he gets inside, Dad and Dean have disappeared.