Wendigo hunting was never fun. For any of you. Sam always had to pitch a damn tent in the middle of nowhere just to gank the thing within a week. Dean was in a separate tent, one he had proclaimed as 'better' because it had more space. Sam didn't really mind cause it meant he got you all to himself. You'd been having a hard time sleeping, so he was talking to you quietly while he laid in his sleeping bag next to yours.

"I drew the salt ring myself. It's safe, promise, honey."

Sam murmurs, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear and teasingly poke your nose…which was freezing cold.

"Jeez, sweet girl, you're cold as ice."

His long fingers slide into your bag, feeling your skin with a frown.

"C'mere, honey."

Sam murmurs, unzipping his own sleeping bag.

"Let me warm you up."