There wasn't much that Dean actually remembered from the night his mother died. What he thought he remembered was mostly pieced together from the stories and half truths his father used to tell them. Some things he was pretty sure were real, the smell, fear, panic, confusion but even those faded. What used to rip him screaming from his sleep was now a dull part of the anxiety he constantly felt.
One thing he knew was real, the warm, trusting weight of his baby brother in his arms. He would never forget that, because he never truly put him down.