You and Sam had both lost it when you walked back into the motel to see Dean. You'd taken a case on a warlock who had been playing poker in terms of years of life, and clearly Dean had decided to play and lost. He pouts, sitting in a bathrobe and eating a bacon cheeseburger. Jesus, his gray hairs.

"Darlin', c'mere. I want you."

You snort, running a hand over your very much still youthful face.

"Yes, grandpa."

Dean glares at you, his green eyes surrounded with soft wrinkles.

"Not funny. You think I'm cute."

You roll your eyes, sitting with him on your bed at the motel.

"No offense, but you're giving me the creeps."

Dean pouts again, looking miserable. Even his girl didn't want him. That was a low blow. He whimpers dramatically, rubbing his gray hair. You kiss his cheek, patting his back gently.

"Where's the warlock? I gotta win your years back or lose mine too. Can't let you be an old man by yourself."