AN: This is a very special story because this scene was created int he mind of the amazing K Hanna Korossy--who so kindly allowed me to write it! I'm truly excited because K is one of my all time favorite Fan Fiction authors, and I am honored because she aloud me this oppritunity. So many many thank yous to her, please go read her stories. This one is based off a paragraph in her story "A Little Brother Thing" you don't need to read it to understand this story, but you do need to read it or else miss out on an amazing story!
Also the story Sam is reading from is The Back of the North Wind by George MacDonald, it's an amazing story and it just reminded me of Sammy.
Sam's hand slid down to the book he'd left on the chair the night before, the Agatha Christie he'd read a few pages from before bed. His fingers curled comfortably around it. Books had always been his solace, and he'd tried to share that a few times with his big brother when they were kids, like when Dean had gotten slammed head-first into the car and couldn't open his eyes for a day without getting dizzy and nauseated. Even then, Sam had known his presence and voice soothed Dean more than the story Sam was reading, but whatever. Winchesters were good at helping those who didn't realize they needed it, who didn't even know they were being helped. –K Hanna Korossy's A Little Brother Thing
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Dean groaned as the room spun around him. He felt his stomach pitch to the side. Ok, so opening his eyes had been a bad idea, he decided. He felt the bed shift slightly beside him. Though the movement was regretful, the comfort of the small warm body pressing up against him more than made up for it.
The first day Dean slept away, but in his few conscious minutes he was acutely aware that Sam was at his side. Now the older Winchester could only guess that it was the next day, and Sammy was still there watching vigilantly over his big brother. Though the kid shifted too much, rocking Dean's world a little too easily, he couldn't deny that there was something nice about having Sam there.
"I brought a book to read you, Dean," the little voice said. Dean would have laughed if he honestly could, Sammy was eight years old and already the biggest geek he ever met. "Do you want me to start at the beginning?"
"Just start where you're reading Sammy," Dean replied, his voice a breathy whisper. Sam cleared his throat, sounding very adult and very young at the same time.
"What do you want me to do next, dear North Wind?" said Diamond, wishing to show his love by being obedient.
"What do you want to do yourself?"
"I want to go into the country at your back."
"Then you must go through me."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean just what I say. You must walk on as if I were an open door, and go right through me."
Sam read clearly, his voice dropping lower just like John's voice would when he read aloud. Dean did not try to hard to focus on the words, but the voice draped around him like a blanket. The familiarity of it took the edge off his pain. The words soothed him without ever really reaching him. Dean let himself drift away with them. He felt his brother lean a little more against him, careful not to hurt him. Dean could smell the familiar scent he was never entirely sure what was, except that it was Sammy. The scent and the voice wafted around him with a narcotic effect. For the first time since he the Rawhead slammed his head long into the Impala, Dean slept peacefully.