"Where are you going?"
Sigh. "Sammy, go back to bed."
"Where are you going?"
"I just have to check on something. I'll be back."
"I'll come."
"No, you won't."
"I'll sit in the car."
"Why can't you just stay here? I'll be back in an hour."
"You won't."
"I'll be right back. Go back to bed, you're still sick."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, sure you are."
Then he looks. Really looks. Sam's eyes are clear for the first time in days, and he's standing without having to lean on anything for support.
Maybe he is getting better.
"All right," Dean says finally, "but no touching the radio."