They were never the type of family that measured their heights on a door post, the scribbles of initials climbing the white gloss paint every year.
The only thing that happened when they grew out of their clothes and shoes was their father sighing. They didn't have the money for more clothes. Dean wore his father's oversized clothes and Sam was given Dean's now too small clothes. They wore their boots until there were holes in the soles that allowed mud and water to seep in and drench their socks.
Dean enjoyed every moment of his growth spurt. He could hold Sam's share of their chocolate bar high above his head and watch as Sam jumped up and tried to snatch it back unsuccessfully. He could run further and faster than his younger brother and he always won their sparring matches.
He really liked how no-one would even dream of bullying Sammy at school because they knew his big brother wouldn't be happy.
He would laugh when Sam would say "One day Dean! I'm gonna be as tall as you."
"Yeah yeah," He would reply, straightening his back and stretching his neck to gain a little more height.
Dean didn't notice Sam growing taller. He was too wrapped up in girls and hunts. He didn't notice that Sam had stopped following him around like a lost puppy. The older his brother got the less he understood him.
The day he realised Sam was taller than him was the day of the fight. Their father had told Sam to go and Sam had gone. He had stood outside the motel room in the cool winter air and watched Sam walk away. He wanted to catch up with him, tell him something, anything, just to convince him to stay. He wanted Sam to know he was wrong. Sam was never gonna be as tall as him.
He was going to be taller.