The three of you had been on a case for a couple of days in northern Michigan, meaning that you wound up in a tent in the middle of the woods in 50 degree weather. It was July, dammit. Why was it so cold at night? You were lying between the boys in your sleeping bag, staring at the tent flap of your fairly big tent. It was old as hell, but it was sturdy. You kept hearing noises outside, and you knew it was stupid to be worried about anything attacking you; the three of you had placed so many precautions around the tent before settling in. But you still couldn't sleep. It was so cold. You see a shadow outside, probably just a coyote, but a strangled whimper escapes your lips anyways. You hear Sam starting to shift in his sleeping bag and Dean's snoring abruptly stops.

"What's wrong, darlin'?"

Dean whispers, his voice rough with sleep. You feel his warm hand brush against your face, feeling the cold skin.

"Honey, you're safe. We're here. Try to sleep."

Sam murmurs gently, shifting his sleeping bag right next to you so he could see that you were okay. Dean frowns.

"You're cold, huh, sweetheart?"

You nod, trying to bury yourself deeper into your sleeping bag.

"Aw, sweet girl."

Sam whispers, lifting himself up with his strong arms. Dean smirks, his eyes barely open as he presses his sleeping bag right against the side of yours, the both of them trapping you warmly between them.