When Sam started wearing long sleeves, Dean didn't think much of it.
Most of the time, the heater was broken in whatever motel they ended up in that week. The thin blankets didn't do much either. Body heat would have worked like a charm, but both Winchesters held to much pride to suggest it.
Dean became more drawn to the shirts when summer came around. They just finished burning the bones of an angry spirit haunting the local lake, and decided to take a dip in the cool water to find relief from the Arizona heat. Dean happily swam around, but Sam refused, stating simply that he wasn't in the mood. His long sleeve shirt clung to him like a second skin from the sweat that covered his body.
Dean had swam up to the dock and pulled him in at some point. Sam had given him a bitchface but seemed to be content with wrestling around in the water with his older brother. They went back to the motel to change from their bloody clothes, and Sam had another long sleeve shirt, just a different color.
When he went to bed that night, Dean rummaged through his backpack to find that every one of his shirts were long sleeved.
It was when got stranded in the dessert that Dean confronted Sam. They had just ganked a few vampires and had the nest on their ass, so they had to drop everything and run, wait for Castiel to arrive and help them out. The elder Winchester had his shirt off, stuffed into the waist of his jeans, while Sam still had a damn long sleeve. The sweat that rolled off his body could probably fill their near empty water bottle.
"Dude, you're gonna turn into Sam fried rice if you don't cool down." Dean informed, walking in step with the sweaty man.
"Kinda hard to do when we're in the middle of the desert." Sam retorted, his breaths coming out in exhausted pants.
"If you'd stop being such a girl and take your damn shirt off, you'd feel a lot cooler."
Sam ignored him.
"You got some embarrassing drunk tattoo you're hiding?" Dean pressed.
"No, of course not."
"Then why the hissy fit?"
"I'm not having a hissy fit, maybe I just don't want to take my shit off." Sam shot, tripping over his own two feet.
Dean caught him by the arm, not missing the way he winced. He could feel the oven like heat radiating off Sam beneath his hand, hot enough to make him pull back. "Sammy, you're hot as hell, take your damn shirt off." Dean ordered with a stern glare.
"Aren't you gonna buy me dinner first?" Sam asked with a lopsided smirk.
Dean had to admit, that was smooth as fuck.
"Ha ha, I'm serious Sam, shirt, off, now."
"No."
"Them you leave me no choice." Dean replied bitterly, grabbing the hem of Sam's shirt and pulling it upwards. Sam reacted quickly and pushed it back. "Stop."
"You're gonna have a heat stroke, the damn shirt is coming off, with or without your permission."
Sam held his shirt down, shaking his head defiantly. Dean knew he was gonna fight it, but Sam's breathing was becoming more ragged by the second.
Dean grabbed Sam's shirt as well and it was like a tug of war match. Dean knocked his brother onto his back and straddled his waist, pinning his hands beneath his thighs. Sam tried in vain to buck him off and to squirm free but Dean was already pulling out his switchblade and cutting Sam's shirt to shreds.
He quickly got off his little brother when the shirt was completely ruined and watched as the sleeves fell down and off Sam's arms. He finally knew why Sam had been wearing long sleeve shirts.
All the way up to his elbow, were old and new cuts. They varied in shape and width. Dean could make out the faded word of freak on his right. His stomach dropped. He wanted to punch Sam, and hug him at the same time. "Sammy..."
"Don't. Just don't." Sam growled, turning his back to his brother. Dean would have paused to enjoy the sight of the sun kissed and muscled ripped skin, but he had more important things to worry about right now.
"Why?"
Sam turned back around. "I don't know. I just...I just did it once and couldn't stop. It took away the pain."
Dean delt with his inner turmoil by drinking beer and banging painted whores. He always knew that Sam delt with things differently, but he would have never though that he would carve into his beautiful skin. Cut the words that Dean had called him at least once before.
Dean could only stare dumbfounded at the angry red marks and Sam felt himself grow insecure. He shifted, angling his body away from his brother's gaze. Damn Dean and his stupid green eyes. The way Dean was looking at him, it made him feel miserable, made him want to pick up a blade once again. But he knew that if he did, Dean would only continue to give him this look, or chain him up so he couldn't hurt himself.
"It's not a big deal, let's just keep going." He muttered, looking down ay his feet, his untidy bangs hanging in his eyes. "Not a big deal my ass." Dean replied, making a move to grab Sam's arm but thought better of it. "Look, I know...I know it's not easy living the life we do, it sucks man, it really fucking sucks but, cu- doing what you do isn't gonna make anything better. You know I'm not really the sharing and caring type but, Sam, god you can't do this to yourself, come talk to me, you know I'll listen."
It was amazing how Dean could go from joking, to distraught, to consoling in under 5 minutes. Dean was amazing even without doing that. It almost looked like this was bothering Dean more than it was bothering Sam, and the younger Winchester wouldn't doubt it. Dean had mentioned many times that he was his responsibility, the statement wasn't much, but both boys knew that there was a deeper meaning carved deep into it.
"Yeah, alright." They walked in silence, boderlining uncomfortable, this subject was fragile, it was nothing that a few beers and a night ignoring each other could cure, not this time. Dean seemed to know that Sam probably wouldn't talk to him, he'd suffer in silence. It then made him think, how long had Sam been suffering, right in front of his eyes, how did he fail to notice it? Was he that bad of a brother?
The boys were thankful to hear the familiar flutter of wings.