A/N: This is a snippet from a scene in one of my earlier fics, Tribute, in which Sam remembers that time Dean finally called him "Sammy" after their falling out with the demon blood. I had only briefly mentioned what had happened, and moved on. The intention with this is to divulge further into what happened that day. I hope you enjoy. :D Sadly, I don't own Supernatural, just playing in the sandbox a bit.

Sammy

Sammy.

From the moment Dean first referred to me by that horrible nickname, I had hated it. Even as a child, I would sometimes stomp my foot in frustration and call out "It's Sam." Of course, considering how adorable I supposedly was as a boy, my little tantrums had come off not as threatening, but cute. And, of course, this never stopped my older brother. Sammy it was, and Sammy it would be until the day one of us finally died.

But I never truly hated it as a child. Because as independent as I was, I always associated the nickname with love and safety. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean would soothe me after falling off my bike and scratching the palms of my hand. It didn't matter how much the scrapes stung, Dean's voice and gentle touch would always make it better. Whenever I was haunted by nightmares, Dean would allow me to crawl on the bed beside me. "You're a tough kid, Sammy," he'd assure me. But that one word, that horrible, wonderful nickname, would assure me what I already knew, even as a little boy: I'm here. I'll keep you safe. As long as I'm here, nothing bad will happen. I promise.

As a pre-teen, I began to resent that nickname. The repeated assurances of "It's Sam" were no longer those of a child who secretly adored the attention. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Dean," I would whine, and my brother would just chuckle. "Whatever, Sammy," he would say with a mischievous grin, and the teasing would escalate. But I tolerated it. Not when bullies at school tormented me; if I were truly the fighting kind, they would have had the shit kicked out of them the moment the name first slipped from their lips. As it was, Dean would have gladly provided his own fists had he known that his little brother was being bullied. But my overprotective older brother? Somehow, even then, I had grown to expect, and even sort of like, to be called Sammy.

I never realized just how much I liked the nickname until recently. Those four months Dean was in Hell had been the worst of my life. To the point where teaming up with Ruby and becoming an addict were my only coping mechanisms. But if I had known that it would lead to the destruction of out brotherhood, would I have let it go? Would I have grieved my brother and moved on? I highly doubt that; avenging Dean had been the straw which broke the camel's back. But to see the lack of trust in my brother's eyes, the resentment, the remnants of all we once had crumbling before my very eyes. It hurt. Dean didn't trust my judgement; Dean didn't think I was doing the right thing...

Dean didn't see me as his brother anymore...

But as hurtful as this was, I was devastated when he stopped calling me "Sammy."

It was so sudden. Conversations were strained, our relationship more businesslike than brotherly. He still cared for me when I was injured on the hunt (nothing would ever keep my big brother from caring for his younger sibling) but it seemed almost mechanical. I waited for him to pat me on the shoulder with his usual "you're good, Sammy." Nothing.

And so it continued. Days stretched into weeks, and then months. Not once did I hear Dean call me by that once hated nickname. The one I'd give anything to hear again. I never said anything, never shed a tear. Because that was the Winchester way, after all. I was dying inside. Sure, I could drop everything that I believed in, go back to Dean with open arms. But I honesty believed that I was doing good; that teaming with Ruby was the right thing, and that the endgame would make everything worth it. Dean would see that this was the only way to kill Lilith. Sure, it would take some time, but we would be brothers again.

I had never been so wrong in my life. Ruby had been manipulating me this entire time, and my actions, instead of saving the world, had set the wheels in motion to destroy it. Dean was right. And even though he had been there for me, had stabbed that demon bitch while I held her down, I grieved the loss of my brother regardless. Dean didn't trust me. I didn't trust myself. He was right; I really was a monster.

Days continued to pass.

Not once did Dean call me "Sammy".

And now, here I am, standing in this shitty motel room, after reuniting with my brother. He looks at me, sees the bags under my eyes brought on by many sleepless nights, and gently pats me on the back.

"You look beat, man. You really should get some rest, Sammy."

I have no idea how I kept my composure. Somehow, I managed to tell him that I would get some fresh air first, it might help me sleep. And as I slipped from the motel, making my way to the Coke machine around the corner, I finally broke down. I leaned against the wall, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed tears of gratitude. Of relief, knowing that no matter what, my brother still had my back, still loved me.

He still called me "Sammy".