You hear him slip into your room at about 5:30 am. He approaches the bed slowly and stands beside it for a while, trying to figure out what he's allowed to do here. After a few moments of indecision, he finally says your name quietly.

"What's the matter, Dean?" You ask through a yawn, as if you don't already know.

"It's...um...technically tomorrow," he offers with a self-conscious smile.

You roll over onto your back and gaze up at him. He looks tired and upset. Lost, even.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you, babe?" You ask quietly.

You realize that you feel kind of bad for him, now that the unbearable sexual frustration has passed. You were pissed last night, backed into a corner and - okay - you sort of lashed out. But looking up at him now, with his long, wet eyelashes and pale, exhausted complexion, you're having a hard time remembering why you were even so mad at him to begin with.

Sure, he's a horn-ball. He's freaking Dean. It's like, encoded in his DNA or something. And at 17, he's got teen hormones to contend with, on top of his typical insatiable sex drive.

Shit. You really do feel bad now.

In response to your question, he shakes his head and looks down at his hands. It's a technique he still uses as an adult to avoid eye contact during emotional conversations.

"Listen, I'm...sorry...for, you know, going too far. I figured it wasn't a big deal, since we're technically together anyway. But I... um... I realize now that you're not into me...you know, yet," he glances at you anxiously, trying to gauge your reaction to his words.

You sigh, because that's not really the problem. You are already 'into him,' even at this age. You just think it's wrong on multiple levels for you to be.

"Apology accepted," you say softly. After a moment, you lift up the covers in invitation. "Do you want to sleep in here?"

"Hell yes," he sighs in relief and dives onto the bed beside you. He starts to reach for you, like always, but pauses. "Umm...can I still...?"

"As long as you stick to the rules," you answer.

"No problem," he assures and eagerly moves to curl himself around you.

You laugh as he jostles you and the entire bed in his hurry to shimmy into position. Egged on by your laughter, he bounces you around some more and wriggles his arm beneath you. Once you're completely wrapped up in his arms, he gives an overly-loud contented sigh.

"Comfy?" You ask with a smirk as he nuzzles his nose behind your ear.

"Very," he assures.

You shake your head and take his heavy hand in yours, bringing it to your lips and kissing his scarred knuckles. It's a silly thing, really, that little gesture, but it's something you haven't done since this whole spelled-stone fiasco started.

"I'm sorry, too, you know," you offer.

"For the set of frozen blue-balls you gave me?" He asks with a smirk and you laugh. "Eh, call it ice water under the bridge. It was funny as hell...you know, afterwards," he assures. "Would've been funnier if it happened to somebody else, that's for damned sure, but I'll give credit where it's due. You got me good. I totally left myself open for it."

"Actually, I'm not all that sorry for the shower thing. You definitely needed to cool off," you tease. "No, I'm more sorry for forgetting that, as frustrating as this situation is for me, it's got to be just as bad for you."

You feel him shrug. "It's weird. Kinda tough to get used to all of this."

"I know," you say softly. "I mean, as far as you're concerned, the past 17 years of your life didn't even happen..."

You trail off as you take that sentence into consideration.

He's actually missing 57 years, if you want to get technical. Because, yeah, you're dating a guy with the body of a 34 year old, but 74 years of memories, after his time in Hell is factored in.

God, it's never dull with a Winchester, is it?

So, along that mindset, you're actually dating a guy who is usually 44 years older than you. And here you are, all hung up that he's now 13 years younger than you.

Huh.

"You're still a teenager," you continue, trying to ignore your internal revelation that you're a big, fat hypocrite. "You're in a whole different mindset than you will be by the time we get together. And we have no idea how long it's even gonna take to get you back to the right age."

You bite your bottom lip as you consider your next words. Do you mean them? You're not sure. The clenching of your heart tells you the answer is an adamant NO!, but you feel like you need to say them. It would be selfish not to at this point.

"So...if you want to go out and blow off some steam... Maybe see if you can meet somebody and-"

"NO," Dean cuts in quickly and firmly, unknowingly echoing the sentiments of your heart.

You frown. "What I'm trying to say is-"

"I know exactly what you're trying to say. Answer's still no," he declares with his trademark finality.

You roll over in his arms, looking up into his eyes and shaking your head.

"Dean, it's not fair for me not to be with you, but not let you be with anyone else, either. I can't have it both ways."

"Yes, you can and you do," he insists. "Look, whether we're screwing at the moment or not, we're still together. Till death-by-monster do us part, right? Hunter's marriage. Just because some stupid spell knocked my clock outta wack, I don't get a free pass to chase random skirts. And you know what? I don't want one. I want you. I'm not settling for anything less. If that means I gotta play handball till this all gets fixed, then so be it. But we're good together, the real deal, and I'm not about to screw it up for a meaningless piece of tail."

There's your Dean. He's hiding in the intensity of those green eyes, in the stubborn set of that square jaw.

You smile warmly and nod, looking down at his t-shirt in hopes that he won't see the flaring of adoration in your gaze.

"I get that this shit is tough for you to work out in your head, baby," he says gently and you can't help but look back up into his eyes. "I know I haven't made it easy for you, and I'm sorry for that, but it's only because..." He trails off briefly, trying to find the right words. "I've never had...this," he says, inclining his head down to the way you're lying comfortably in his arms. "Let alone had it with somebody who knew about the hunting and all that comes along with it. Somebody that can hold her own and drive me crazy with just a sexy little smile. I never even let myself hope that I'd have somebody like you."

"God, you have got to stop talking," you sigh with a smile.

Dean chuckles. "Still not making it easy, huh?"

"Definitely not," you answer.

"All right, then. This is me, shutting up," he says with a smirk.

He closes his eyes and snuggles closer, perfectly content now that he's back in your bed and holding you.

And that's really going to be enough for him, you marvel.

Despite the hormones and sex drive, he's really willing to just wait for you. He still cares for you deeply enough that he won't even consider going elsewhere.

"You are so gonna owe me for this when I get back to normal, though," he declares with his eyes still closed, needing to inject some humor into the moment.

You smirk and peer up at him.

"Big time," he adds. "Like every Friday being Steak-and-BJ Day type big. Like I get to pick out the lingerie you're gonna strip tease for me in type big."

"Deal," you laugh and kiss his cheek.

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Want this fixed immediately? Or are you looking forward to meeting another Dean? ;)