Dean sat quietly bedside as the doctor finished her exam. True to his word, Bobby had a contact close by who knew someone who knew someone who knew a doctor who helped hunters, meaning she knew not to ask too many questions.

"I definitely think the cervical neck collar is a good idea, Sam. And I"ll drop by in a few days with a therapeutic pillow too - it will help alleviate pain in the night while you're sleeping. But all in all, I think you're a pretty lucky guy. A neck-stomping could be, and usually is, a whole lot worse." She looked at Dean. "I'm sure it was nothing more than a lucky angle that saved his windpipe if it truly happened the way you described."

She reached out to Bobby for the collar. "So let me show you how to position this so he gets the most benefit." And both Dean and Bobby leaned in to watch.

"That should do it." She finished. "How's that feel, Sam?"

Sam slowly sat up from his prone position and sighed happily at the added support. "It's bulky, but at least I can hold up my own head now." He moved slightly, "Feels a lot better too. Takes away some of the pain."

"How long does he need to wear it?" Dean asked gruffly, leaning in to fuss at Sam's shirt where it had bunched up slightly under the collar.

"We'll see." she said. "I'll stop back by intermittently to see how he's getting along. The main thing is lots of rest. Keep his back nice and clean - that means showers at least twice a day, clean shirts and sheets, and this. She held up a tube of ointment and looked at Dean. "Twice a day, everyday, til it's gone. And if you feel up to it, Sam, a good long soak in the tub on occasion will help with the stiffness."

Sam nodded, and grimaced.

The doctor smiled gently, "And try not to nod. Use your words, Sam. It'll be a whole lot less painful. And speaking of pain," she sighed. "You're in for more than your share for at least the next week. I'm leaving these." She held up a bottle and handed it to Dean. It's a pretty strong painkiller, and he's going to need it. I won't lie to you. It's going to be worse at night. So make sure he gets one before bed and then another exactly 12 hours later. It'll make him a little loopy, but he needs it to help relax the muscles if he's to heal properly."

Dean nodded as she handed him a second bottle. "Antibiotics for the road rash on his hands and back. One a day til they're gone. And make sure someone keeps an eye on the wound on the back of his head. I re-bandaged it, and I'll clean it everytime I stop by, but it'll need daily attention. Got it?"

Dean nodded again.

"Clean it and re-bandage it every day, and apply this - it's an antiseptic."

"Anything else, doc?" Bobby asked.

She stepped into Sam's kitchen to wash her hands. "Just make sure he eats and drinks. Lots of protein - maybe some protein shakes, peanut butter, nuts, meats. He's taking a lot of medication, and he'll get deathly sick if he doesn't eat enough. Besides that, he's underweight and still a little dehydrated, so everything you can get into him is good." She turned to Bobby. "I'll stop back in toward the middle of the week to see how he's doing."

Dean stepped up, "Thanks doc." he said. "Thanks for coming out."

She smiled, "Don't mention it. Just paying it forward. I owe someone who owes someone who owes Bobby here a big dept. Take care, Sam." She called. "You'll be feeling better in no time."

As the doctor made her exit, Bobby and Dean exchanged smiles of relief.

"Well, that went better than I expected." Bobby shared.

"Thank God you got connections, Bobby." Dean agreed. "Exactly how many people owe you favors anyway?"

"Loads, and don't you forget it, boy."

Dean snorted and turned his attention back to the patient. "So." he said.

"So," Sam echoed. "Help me up, Dean. I'm going stir crazy."

"Oh, you're getting up, dude." Dean motioned to the kitchen chair that sat next to the bed. Dean had been keeping vigil from it all night. "Right into this." He retrieved a towel from the bathroom. "I can't take another day of looking at your hairy face. Just cause I call you sasquatch from time to time doesn't mean you need to look the part. This ain't cosplay, Sammy." He rooted around in the bathroom. "Where's your razor?"

Sam briefly considered arguing the point, but truth being told, the beard and mustache were more itchy than anything else, and he had enough discomfort to deal with at the moment.

"Second drawer under the vanity. Shaving cream's in the cabinet."

Dean returned from the bathroom looking victorious with both objects in hand. He took one look at his brother leaning carefully against the headboard of the bed, dwarfed by the bulky collar, and sobered. "You good to sit in the chair, Sam? Cause we can do this lying down, or right where you're at if it's more comfortable."

Sam sighed. "No, the chair is good. It will feel good to move around a little."

"The chair it is. But first … " Dean picked up the bottle of painkillers and shook them. "First we medicate, little brother."

The fact that Sam didn't argue the point like he normally would have just told Dean and Bobby that the pain was already kicking up. On an average day, Sam avoided medication like the plague, hating the spacey feeling it gave him. When the doctor had mentioned feeling loopy, she'd had no idea just how loopy a doped-up Sam Winchester could get. Dean could scarcely wait for the festivities to begin.

They had Sam dosed up and in the chair with Dean studiously clipping away when Danny knocked quietly on the open door. "Hey, Dad sent over some …" He stopped in surprise when he noticed Bobby. "Mr. Winchester?" He asked cautiously.

Bobby snorted and Dean outright guffawed at the thought. "Not hardly, son." Bobby informed him, standing up and holding out a hand. "Name's Singer. Bobby Singer."

"Bobby's our uncle." Sam piped up.

Danny grinned and met Bobby's handshake. "Good to meet you, Sir."

"Nice to meet you too, son. You must be Danny. I've heard all kinds of good things."

"None of it's true. I promise." Danny assured him, turning to Sam. "Dad sent you over some soup, Sammy." He said, holding up a quart jar wrapped in a dish towel. "Homemade, chicken, packed full of good things except it's been strained. So really, it's just broth, but easier for you to get down, we were thinking."

"Looks good." Sam agreed, eying the soup hungrily.

"Well, speaking from experience, Dad's soups are pretty damned amazing, but super hot - volcanic even. So you have to let them cool down for a good twenty minutes to avoid a trip to the ER." He poured a small amount of soup out into a mug to acclimate and set the rest in the fridge.

"And there's groceries," Danny addressed Dean, heading back to the landing and carrying in three bags of goodies. He made one more trip. "And more beer." He winked at Sam. "Although, now that I see that collection of pill bottles, we might have to cut you off for a week or two, Sam."

"Hey," Dean offered. "Patient gets the soup. Big bro gets the beer. It's a win-win, Sammy."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Bobby complained.

"Calm down, old man." Dean offered. "We might share."

Sam suddenly snorted like Dean's one-liner was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. And the other three men in the room exchanged amused glances.

"And we're off." Dean noted. "Everyone keep your hands and feet inside the ride."

"You're so silly, Dean." Sam slurred. "Girl."

"I'm not the girl in this relationship, Sam. You're the girl."

"You're the girl. I'm … Batman."

"You did not just claim Batman status, little brother. I'm Batman. Don't make me kick your sorry ass."

If Dean expected a reply, he was disappointed. Sam's head just began bobbing forward minutely, and Dean realized he had about five minutes left to wrap things up before his brother was down for the count. He quickly retrieved a wet towel and wiped Sam's face clean. He stepped back to admire his work and nodded approvingly. "Hey, little bro. You look like yourself again."

"You're just … jealous." Sam replied sleepily. "You're … old. And cranky."

"Yeah, well you look like you're 12 again. Try getting a girl with that face, Doogie."

" … suck, Dean." Which Dean understood to mean that he sucked.

"It's been said before, Sammy. It's been said before." He grabbed his brother under one arm and coordinated his efforts with Danny, who grabbed Sam's other arm. Together, they moved him carefully back to the bed and propped him against the headboard.

"Don't fade out on me yet, little brother. First, you need soup."

"Soup." Sam repeated, sluggishly. "Hungry."

Danny handed Dean the mug, and Dean dipped a finger in before helping Sam hold it up to his lips. "It's nice and warm, Sam. Going to feel good going down."

Sam nodded as he sipped at the warm soup. Looking around the room, he was overcome with such feelings of comfort and joy that it brought tears to his eyes, and then he had to snort because he realized that he had just plagiarized a Christmas song. But he'd been so uncomfortable for so long that he almost couldn't take in all the emotions running through him.

"Something funny, Sam?" Dean tried hard not to laugh out loud at his brother's goofy antics.

"Comfort 'n joy." Sam muttered. "S'funny."

"You're funny."

"Feel so good now. Comfortable. Felt so bad for so long. Is this real?" He asked Dean, looking over at his brother hopefully.

Dean felt his own eyes grow misty at the question and at the suddenly desperate look on his brother's face. "It's real, Sammy." He said gently. "You're safe. Just rest now, okay? We're not going anywhere."

Sam finished the soup and Dean helped lower him down against the pillows so he could sleep comfortably. Once he was sure Sam was as settled as he could be, he stood up and stretched.

"Somebody say beer?" He asked.

Later, as Dean and Danny and Bobby sat around Sam's kitchen table, drinking and laughing quietly and even reliving the week's events, Dean came to the bizarre realization that he'd never felt happier.