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Summary
"'Do you… need to talk about anything?” he ended up settling on, not entirely keen on telling Dean he could smell his blood whenever he hurt himself.
His brother frowned, snapping a quick “No, I’m fine, Sam.” before looking back down to his burger and fries.
He stopped eating them, though.
“What’re you trying to get at?” Dean said, after a moment, eyes sharpening.
Sam shook his head. No time like the present if there might not be one soon.
“I know you hurt yourself-”
“Like Hell I do,” they both winced at the choice of words, recovering quickly, “I don’t. Where’d ya get that idea from, Sammy?'"
or: Sam can smell when Dean self harms due to the demon blood in his veins. It goes well for neither of them, when Sam finally has enough of pretending, and says that he knows.