Dean's temperature was still high, but no longer brain injury high after cool baths, antibiotics, and three days of draining abscesses, changing bandages, and shepherding his hallucinating brother to the bathroom.
Sam scrubbed his face after almost faceplanting onto Dean's bed. Dean shifted, and opened his eyes, hands drumming an unknown tune on the blanket. For the first time in days, Dean's eyes looked clear and lucid.
"Don't give me sushi. No sushi, Sam."
So much for lucid. "No raw fish. Check."
"No tofu, either."
"Check."
"No seaweed."
"Strike Japanese food. Check."
"Pie, maybe."
"You'll get chicken noodle soup."
"'Check."