beekeepercain:

Consider: Dean being born small.

He’d be John and Mary’s first born, a very special little boy, brought into the world a little unprepared, vulnerable, to be loved and protected. He’d be kept close, a little closer because he’d seem so small and fragile, and taught that this is what family, what home, is: shelter, trust and warmth. Continuity. Reliability.

Consider how, when all of that would be torn from him, he’d have to grow up so fast, much faster than other children, how sudden and rough and raw it would be for him. That this tiny little thing, barely four years old, would have to become a man in a blink of an eye, stronger and bigger and faster than the monsters in the closet so that he could be the protector of the tattered pieces of everything he’d ever known. Consider how he’d never get to be small without associating it with weakness and failure again.

Also consider: Sam being an average baby. 

He’d be round enough to make the midwife smile, not big enough to cause any trouble with the birth. He’d have soft small hands and a pointy little nose, and he’d be born to parents who already know what to expect, to a big brother who’d feel conflicted, a little scared and a little excited to have him. Perhaps a little jealous, too. A second child, an average pregnancy, an average birth, an average size, an average cry, an average beginning.

Consider how he’d never know normalcy, only the ideal of it, the echoes of it through other people’s lives. How he’d grow up to be the Chosen One, the Boy King who could reign in Hell and command its armies, how he’d become Lucifer’s vessel and the one who’d save the world, and how he’d be recognised, worshiped, feared or hated everywhere he’d go. How he’d be singled out, how he’d stand out. Consider how he’d never know average again, and how he’d desire it above all else.