Food runs do not take two hours. That's just a fact.
Sam scowls when Dean's phone goes to voicemail for the seventh time. He knows, he knows, that there's a perfectly reasonable explanation that does not involve demons or serial killers or FBI agents. He does. But that doesn't stop his stomach from twisting into a knot when the numbers on the clock flip from 8:59 to 9:00.
Fifteen minutes later, the door finally opens to reveal a soaked-to-the-bone and extremely pissed-off-looking older brother. "What the hell happened?" demands Sam.
"Nothing. Fucking good d-d-deed came b-back to bite m-m-me on the ass, that's all," Dean replies, though the words are somewhat hard to decipher with all the chattering his teeth are doing.
Then Sam realizes that Dean's jacket is missing. "Where the hell is your coat?"
"Long s-s-story," Dean sputters, shivering violently.
"Well, get out of those clothes," orders Sam, hurrying over to Dean's bag to dig out dry sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Dean fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, his numb fingers refusing to perform the task required. Sam shoves Dean's useless hands aside and unbuttons Dean's shirt himself, then unties Dean's boots and tosses them aside so he can strip off Dean's jeans.
"I c-c-can do it m-myself," protests Dean, but his weak attempts to push Sam's hands away are no match for Sam's determination.
Sam shoves the sweatpants into Dean's hands. "You know the rest." He turns away and lets Dean struggle out of his wet shorts himself. "You decent yet?" he asks a minute later.
"Yeah," Dean replies, and sneezes. Sam turns around and retrieves the shirt. Dean sneezes again, and again, and sniffles loudly. "Shit," he mutters.
"That about covers it," replies Sam. He gets Dean into the shirt and then takes off his own hoodie and motions for Dean to put his arms out. "Here, this is already warm." He bundles Dean in the too-large hoodie and zips it up to Dean's chin. "Get in bed; I'll make some coffee." He grabs the coffeepot and goes into the bathroom to fill it. Just then, something occurs to him. "Dean, you did bring the car back, right?"
"Of c-course I f-f-fucking did," Dean growls, and sneezes. "But the front w-w-window's broken."
Well, that explains why Dean couldn't warm up in the car. Sam pours the water into the coffeepot and sets it to brew. Dean sneezes twice, sniffles, and groans.
Sam digs the hot water bottle out of the first-aid kit and fills it up. "Here." Dean accepts it gratefully and curls up around it. Dean is a little too pale for Sam's liking; it looks like he's in for a hell of a head cold.
A few minutes later, Sam hears a congested snore. He looks over to see Dean dead to the world, hot water bottle clutched to his chest like a favorite teddy bear. Oh, well. He can always heat the coffee up in the morning.