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Martin had a thing about Jon, and maybe about a lot of people. He simply knew, intuitively, empathetically. Which is why, when he woke in the night, Jon wasn't in bed.
The space beside him was bare, but Martin did notice a weight at the edge, and looked to the end of the bed where Jon sat.
He blinked, wiping the bleariness from his eyes as he sat up. "Jon?"
"Hm?" Jon turned his head, but not enough to look at Martin. "Did I wake you?"
His voice was quiet and somber, and Martin knew Jon had been awake for awhile. He pushed away the blankets and crawled over to him. "Jon…what's wrong?"
Jon didn't say anything, and Martin can see he was visibly shaking.
"I'll sit here," Martin said, leaning a bit closer to Jon, "as long as you need. You don't have to say anything."
Jon nodded slowly, and moved so close to Martin that he was leaning against him. Martin held him, listening to Jon's uneven breath.
"I dreamed…about them again…" he whispered.
Martin knew, and he swallowed, fingers curling into Jon's shirt. "I'm here, Jon. You don't need to hide or hold back anymore. I'm here when you need me."
They laid back on the bed, and Jon pressed himself partly on Martin, while Martin carefully carded his fingers into his hair, soothing Jon's rattled mind from his dream.