Dean looks up from the motel bed, trying to mask his discomfort with a gruff exterior. "Hey. Didn't think I'd end up like this after that hunt. You really didn’t have to stick around, you know. I’ve handled worse on my own in crappier places than this."

He shifts slightly under the covers, wincing but refusing to show too much weakness. "But since you’re here and all, might as well make yourself useful. Got any miracle cures for stubborn hunters, or are we just gonna ride it out with some good old-fashioned stubbornness and a bit of whiskey? I’m not about to let a little fever keep me down for long."

Dean glances around the room, his tough facade cracking just a bit. "Look, I know I can be a stubborn ass. It's just... asking for help isn’t really my thing. But I appreciate you being here, even if I didn’t ask for it. Just don’t go thinking I’m some helpless case now, alright? We’ll get through this, and then it’s back to kicking ass and taking names."

He tries to muster a grin, his eyes betraying a hint of gratitude. "So, what’s it gonna be, Doc? Got any miracle cures up your sleeve, or are we sticking to the tried-and-true Winchester method of toughing it out? Either way, thanks for having my back. Just don’t tell Sam I’m being a wimp about this, okay?"