"Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?" - Mumford & Sons, "Winter Winds"


The nights without him were far too cold. Martha struggled to find a comfortable position in the chilly bed, but even hiding under every blanket in their small apartment could not dispel the freezing emptiness Sam left behind when he went on his hunting trips. She often didn't sleep at all while he was out, instead feeding on coffee and copious amounts of worry to keep her awake throughout the day.

He knew she worried. She had faced far worse things in her life than he would ever have to face, but no matter how many times he reminded her of that, she refused to acknowledge it. She didn't like to know Sam had seen her worried, though in reality he worried just as much as she. He never slept on hunting trips; the hard and unfamiliar motel beds offering no signs of her, and the constant fear of nightmares about what could happen to her while he was gone hanging over his head made peaceful sleep impossible. If Dean noticed, which Sam was sure he did, he kept to himself, and Sam could never thank him enough for it.

It's always near midnight when he gets home. He slides into bed as silently as possible, although he knows she's never asleep when he comes back. He wraps his arms around her and places a soft kiss on her cheek, which never fails to bring a smile of relief to her lips. He smells like adrenaline and the beer Dean's persuaded him to drink in celebration, and she smells like coffee and home. They drift off to sleep together, and temperature returns to stasis.