The brothers sat side-by-side on Bobby's rustic porch steps, knees touching. Dean had his brother's arm in his lap, gently running an adhesive lint roller up and down the inside of his forearm. Sam had discovered accidentally that this brought temporary relief from the itch that still haunted him night and day without causing more damage to his already scratched and scarred arms, and Dean was devoted to administering the make-do treatment as often as his brother needed it.

It was an exceptionally beautiful winter day in Sioux Falls - temperatures near 60 degrees and sun shining. The sky overhead was puffy with clouds, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd think it was an early day in spring instead of the bleak dead of winter. At another time, he and Sam might be outside training on a day this mild - sparring playfully and trading the verbal jabs that were such earmarks of their relationship.

Days like this sort of gave him hope. And Dean needed hope.

Because things with his brother were rapidly declining.

Sam seemed to be losing ground by the day, and the speed at which he was losing information terrified the two people who loved him most. Sam had trouble remembering how to set the water temperature in the shower now, and just yesterday he'd pulled Dean aside and asked him quietly to remind him how to use the microwave to heat up a cup of coffee.

It was beyond heartbreaking.

Dean was devoted to Sam - helping him navigate around Bobby's house, even though both boys should have known the place like the backs of their hands. All of the good memories of their childhoods - the ones filled with normal things like home-cooked meals and daily conversation - those things were all tied up in this place.

But Sam was quickly losing those memories. And the more Sam lost, the more determined Dean was to help him remember.

"Hey Sammy, you remember that time Bobby caught us breakin' the windows out of that old Dodge that used to sit down there on the corner of the lot? Remember, I was John McClane and you were Hans Gruber? Boy, did he get mad. I think that's the only time I ever saw Bobby get that pissed."

But Sam just shook his head, "When was that?"

Dean smiled, lost in the memory. "Coupla years ago … seven or eight maybe. You remember? A piece of the glass flew back and caught you in the cheek. Gave you a hell of a gash. That's what got us in trouble."

Dean shoulder-bumped his kid brother. It was one of Dean's best memories because, even though Sam had gotten hurt, it was one whole day where the brothers had played together normally - no incantations, no weapons to clean - just two boys reenacting favorite scenes from their favorite action movies. It had been a day just like this one, and Dean was suddenly tempted to take his brother by the hand and pull him up and down the rows of junked cars screaming "Yippie ki yay, Motherfucker!"

"Remember, Sam?"

Sam nodded, "I think so."

Dean looked away, eyes watering. Sometimes Sammy just said things like that to make Dean feel better. Sam knew he was losing ground, and he was trying to be so brave through it all. Sometimes Dean just wished the younger boy would break down and scream or cry or throw something. He wished he'd just call Dean all the rotten names he deserved. Dean halfway wished his brother would just hate him and be done with it because the brave routine was silently killing them both.

And it was all Dean's fault.

All of it.

Every night in his dreams, Dean revisited that hellish day in the motel. Every night he fed Sam the soda that started it all. And some nights it was the way it had actually been - Sam's quick descent into nothingness. Other nights, the soda was laced with arsenic or lye, and Sam fell to the floor and died horrifically over and over again.

And always, Dean just watched, helpless to stop it, helpless to save his brother. Some nights Dad forced Sam to eat dog food from a dish off the floor before he made Dean give him the soda. Other nights Dean would stake Sam to the crusty carpet of the motel room and pour the poisoned soda over him.

Those nights were the worst.

Dean would wake up on the floor beside the couch screaming Sam's name over and over and babbling repeatedly that he was sorry. Sam would comfort him then, crawling down on the sleeping bag beside his brother and hugging him close - skinny Sammy arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, rocking him gently until the horrific visions faded.

Dean really just wanted to not wake up at all most mornings, but he made himself get up and get dressed and paste on a smile and start the "Hey Sam, remember whens."

Because he and Bobby were all Sam had left, and because it was terrifying enough being an observer to Sam's decline. Dean couldn't even begin to grasp what it must feel like to Sam - the brainy one of the bunch, the kid who remembered every detail of every website he'd ever researched, the kid who knew way too much about everything. Dean had always called his little brother the King of Useless Knowledge for just that reason. Sam, the real Sam, was always spouting off a random piece of interesting information that somehow just always seemed to fit the occasion.

Of course, that was before.

Sam didn't do that anymore. Even though he'd gotten his bandages off weeks ago, and still spent a good bit of time parked in front of Bobby's aging dinosaur of a computer, he didn't carry the knowledge with him like he once had.

And Dean missed those off-the-cuff remarks about the most mundane things. But none of that mattered because at least Sam was still with them. It might be a honed-down version of the whip-smart Sammy he was used to, but Dean didn't care. Sam's heart was still all Sam. In fact, the more of his past that Sam lost, the more affectionate he became - as though he was trying to make it up to Dean and Bobby somehow. Lost Sam was more of a hugger than he'd ever been. And he often just laid a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder as he passed by his chair or jabbed him playfully in the ribs as he pushed past him on the way to the table. He was especially careful to make sure that Bobby knew just how much he appreciated his dinners and would carry the older man a beer every now and then, unbidden, with a smile of gratitude on his face.

It meant the world to Bobby and Dean, and the older boy could tell that Sam knew that. Maybe he couldn't share all the same memories with Dean that he had before, but he could let Dean know that he was still the same person - maybe a little more lost, a little more confused - but just as determined to be there for his family.

It wasn't the same - not by a long shot - but it was all that Sam had to offer, and Dean was constantly amazed at his brother's strength in the face of adversity.

Because Dean was pretty sure that, faced with the same situation, he would have laid waste to the fucking world by now.