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The biggest difference about Dean, Xanaxed out of his mind by Jack, is how handsy he’s become. It’s like touch has become his primary sense, at least around his beloved little brother. If Sam were to stand in an empty part of any room, he’d give it five minutes before Dean circled in to lean against him, like an orbiting planet pulled towards a collapsing star.
There’s nothing creepy about it, really. He never does anything… wildly inappropriate. Just snuggles, strokes; and on occasion he gives little, chaste licks and nibbles and kisses, never seeming to require anything back. If he’s always felt this urge for closeness, Sam marvels at his prior self restraint. It’s an epiphany, the foundations of his attitude slotting into place at long last. The joshing, the long silences, the rare and awkward hugs. All just Dean repressing this fundamental need.
It’s a lot like having a puppy, loyal and eager and zealously loving, and at times it can be a real pain in the ass. Like when Sam can’t even go to the bathroom without his brother hovering at the door, or the fact his room won’t fit a larger bed. Still, he’s not sure he wants to change Dean back. He’s clingy and a liability, too laid back to be an effective hunter, but he’s clearly happy. Sam hasn’t seen Dean this peaceful in his entire life, and after everything he’s been through, surely to take that away would be the worst of crimes.