Sam hadn't given any consideration, beyond the glaringly obvious, to the full implication of the words he'd spoken to his brother regarding the reinstatement of their familial bond.

But he had sure seen and felt the ramifications of them in the course of the last few days. He'd been so pleased when, on the drive home and the first day following their return from Wisconsin, Dean had kept a business-like demeanor in their communications and interactions that he had missed the little things that had also shifted. He felt as if his words had finally broken through and reached Dean and he was pleased that his brother was trying to be more open to and considerate of Sam's needs and wants. Dean was now giving Sam what he said he wanted. In other words, Dean had stopped making choices for him or telling him what to do - and it hurt beyond anything Sam could have anticipated.

For all intents and purposes, Dean had stopped doing all the little things that Sam had taken for granted as a part of life with his brother. When Sam looked back, the first thing he'd noticed had actually been on the drive back to Kansas and the bunker. They hadn't spoken to each other for the first few hours of the drive which, in and of itself, was not out of the ordinary. They often spent hours traveling in the Impala with only music (usually one of Dean's tapes) blaring from Baby's speakers to fill the companionable silence. Even when they did converse, the music (whether it was Sam's choice or Dean's) was always playing softly in the background. This time Dean had turned the stereo off with a quick snap of his wrist three minutes into the drive and it had stayed off the whole trip. Sam had told himself at the time that, since they rarely agreed on what to listen to anyway, it was a sign that Dean was trying to respect his preferences.

Sam hadn't thought to think it strange at the time that Dean hadn't told him to go in and get drinks and snacks when they stopped for gas at a convenience store or that Dean hadn't offered to go in and get stuff for them himself. He'd been caught up in the newness of being treated like an equal partner who deserved respect. So when he'd exited the restroom and had seen Dean already in the car waiting to go, he'd gotten in without a word, just assuming that Dean had gone in and bought them snacks while he was in the restroom. But Dean had never offered anything nor had there been any evidence that Dean had entered the store when Sam looked around the backseat two hours later. In fact, the only thing Dean had said to him the whole trip was that he felt good enough to make the drive home straight through (and Sam was welcome to sleep if he wanted) but he did offer to find a motel if Sam wanted to sleep in a bed.

Sam had declined the offer and, as a consequence, the brothers had arrived at the bunker eleven hours later, exhausted and sleepy and had gone straight to bed, parting in the hallway outside their separate rooms with tersely spoken "good nights" to each other.

It had only gotten worse-or better-depending on your perspective from there. They'd both slept late the next morning so it hadn't become apparent until the second morning. But Sam couldn't help noticing when it happened the third morning in a row. Dean didn't have a cup of coffee ready for Sam when he arrived downstairs in the morning. It wasn't that Dean didn't make the same usual full pot (to which Sam was welcome to help himself); it was just that he stopped bringing a cup to the library (or wherever Sam was) for him like Dean had done most mornings of their life together. And Sam understood, really he did. After all who waited on their business partner/co-workers like that?

Dean also stopped reading out loud the items he thought should be of interest to Sam from their large selection of morning papers. Instead, Dean just circled the ones he thought might be case-related, then he refolded the papers neatly and returned them to the side table where they were kept so that they would be available when and if Sam chose to read them. Sam declared to himself that he was thankful that Dean no longer interrupted his perusal of the online editions he favored even if it meant he missed some of the funny or quirky items that made his brother smile or laugh (which he told himself he didn't miss at all).

Sam could get used it. He could get used to all of it. Getting his own coffee; reading his own papers; doing his own laundry; making breakfast and lunch on his own schedule (when he remembered) instead of on Dean's whims and timetables. Cleaning and maintaining his own personal weapons. Sam had almost spoken up at that one. Dean hadn't demanded that Sam "surrender your weapon, punk" or some other corny cop show line as he usually did when he'd brought the cleaning kit from the weapons room and set up at his usual table to clean his Colt and Taurus and the few other fire arms that required cleaning. And Sam was pleased, figured that meant Dean respected him enough to know when his gun needed cleaning (which it did) and that Sam was capable of doing it himself (which he was) even though Sam didn't really enjoy doing it the way Dean did and Dean had always been the one maintaining their weapons most of their lives. And he'd know that if he brought his own Taurus to the table Dean would clean it for him without question because Dean wasn't petty enough to refuse and thereby endanger either or both of them. But he just couldn't bring himself to admit that he did like some of the things his brother did for him.

He could live without knowing when Dean went out or where he went or why, though Dean did fill Sam in when it was case-related. Sam could adjust to no longer having stupid jokes or one-liners, lamely worded insults or 'Sam(antha) needs to do' reminders as the subject line on emails from his brother. Just like he'd adjust to Dean no longer being within shoulder brushing distance as they walked around now that Dean was keeping a minimum of twelve inches between them at all times. Or having Dean lean over his shoulder to read from a book or look at the computer screen since Dean now requested that Sam just email or text him a link to the page(s) in question whenever possible.

He'd deal with it all...somehow.

But there were two things Sam never imagined would happen in his lifetime...

One was Dean literally closing a door on him. In the whole of their lives, Sam couldn't remember a time when he hadn't had open access to his brother, mostly because they'd lived in motel rooms growing up; the same was true to this day…at least it had been until Sam opened his big mouth.

On the rare occasions during their childhood that they had stayed in houses or apartments he and Dean had still shared a room. Even in the year since they had inherited the bunker, and finally gotten their own rooms, their bedroom doors had never been completely shut.

But now Dean closed the door every time he entered his bedroom and whenever Sam looked at it he saw a huge "Stay Out" sign that he knew he had had a large hand in placing there. It really bothered Sam to know that he could no longer just push the door open, walk in, and sit on his brother's bed and talk whenever he wanted, but he'd resolved to resist the urge to knock on the door and have words with Dean over it. After all, it was what he had said he wanted.

Sam should have known that Dean would react to his words by removing all the "brotherly" actions and affections from their interactions and communications that he felt would now be offensive to Sam. It really was typical of Dean; Sam had hurt him by implying that family (Dean's 'be all, end all' reason for everything he did) was a problem so Dean had withdrawn emotionally. Not a surprise given Dean's need to twist himself into whatever shape he believed helped Sam most regardless of the cost to himself, or Sam apparently.

And as much as all those things bothered, irritated, annoyed, or hurt Sam, none of them came close to how much it shocked him to realize that Dean seemed to have finally dropped one word from his vocabulary. And ironically, it was a word that Sam had once asked never to hear again but now found himself longing for the sound of again. Because everything would feel wrong in his world without it…

Sammy.

When he heard that once hated nickname pouring from Dean's mouth again, that's when he'd know things were back to normal for the Winchesters. When he was "Sammy" instead of "Sam", he'd know they were brothers again.

Until then, he'd just have to live with what he'd asked for.

-*SPN*SPN*SPN*-

Author Note: A million thanks to the magnificent LoveThemWinchesters. She's not listed as a co-author but she really should be, because without her help this little fic would probably not have seen the light of day.