AN: I learned something about myself tonight. I can't write drabbles. They turn into this weird piece of shit story that just plain confuses me. It went in a very different direction then I had planned, you see. It was supposed to end differently. Oh, well. I'm way too tired to care.

Title: Wonderful Tonight
Summary: When you stay up all night just to watch someone're in too deep. A short slightly one sided and AU Dean/Ruby vignette.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Ruby, mentions Sam Winchester.
Pairing: One sided Dean/Ruby.
Genre: Romance/Drama.
Rating: T for language.
Timeline: Honestly? I have no freaking clue.
Spoilers: None stated.
Warnings: Uh...slightly fluffy and angsty at the same time?
Notes: Title from the song of the same name by Eric Clapton.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Wonderful Tonight

Written by Becks Rylynn

''Find a guy...who will stay awake just to watch you sleep.''


In short: Dean Winchester has no fucking clue what his feelings for Ruby are. He really doesn't.

He just knows she makes him feel.

She makes him crazy, energy and passion that burns bright and hot. She makes him smile when it feels like the world is ending. She makes him laugh, she makes him cry, she makes him want to sing to her, soft words and melodies that create a lullaby woven from the ball of something deep inside of him. Her skin feels right under his fingertips, smooth and soft and touchable. She makes his body hum with a Want he cannot explain.

And she shouldn't.

She shouldn't make him feel anything other than hate and rage and distrust and all those other horrible things that make his chest hurt. He tries. He tries too hard to hate her because it has always been so easy for him to hate things. Hate is much safer than the other dangerous emotions that only lead to blood and destruction and the putrid smell of death that has sunken into his skin like a disease. He tries with all he's got and more to loathe her for what she is and what she represents, but just when he thinks he might be able to hate her and put these other feelings on a shelf, she looks at him with one of those tiny half smiles that reaches her eyes in a way he's never seen before and damn it -

- she's got him under her fucking spell.

She is something wild. Something that cannot be tamed. Something dark and passionate and flames dance in her eyes and she glows in the moonlight and there is a feeling that is quickly scratching its way to the surface inside of him. It is strong and intangible and when he looks at her, he breathes shallow breaths that feel like sand slipping through his fingers.

He is human. Susceptible to the emotions and feelings that claw their way into the hearts of humans. There is no cure for humanity. No cure for Want, Need or that other four letter word that has always been taboo in his world of beds and bodies and sex that doesn't mean a thing.

He wants.

Because he can't help it.

He needs.

Because he can't help it.

And it is all directed towards her.

Because he can't fucking help it.

He'll tell himself until the end of the world that this is only just a crush. It will go away. It is only lust. Only want. And want doesn't necessarily mean anything special, does it? He keeps it all bottled away and waits for the day when he explodes from the effort to pretend he doesn't feel.

When it comes...

...It comes quietly.

He explodes silently on a Saturday night in late June while the air is hot and humid even without sun and he cannot sleep no matter how hard he tries. When he leaves the room, breathing quietly as he slips out the door, she is passed out next to Sam, as always and his eyes linger briefly on her sleeping form before he exits without a noise.

Leaning against the balcony of the cheap motel, he sees it in his head; the image of Sam's arm resting comfortably on her stomach and his jaw tightens, stomach clenching. Logically, he knows. He knows there is nothing going on between the two of them. She treats Sam like a little brother and the numerous times they have been mistaken for a couple has only been met with horrified wide eyes and shrieks of denial. So, yes, logically, he knows that she is not Sam's girl. But Sam is her only real tie to this world of humanity and it bothers Dean that his brother gets to touch her in a way he never will.

It is his own doing. This he knows too. He could be friends with her if he wanted. He could at least be civil. He could at least say more than two fucking words to her a day. But he doesn't want to be her friend. He doesn't want to be her pal. He wants to press her into scratchy motel sheets and make her scream. He wants to feel her more than he does. He wants to be something with her. He's heard her conversations with Sam, asking him why she's here when ''your brother hates me, Sam. Why should I stay and risk waking up in the middle of the night with a shotgun shoved in my face?'' And he'd love to tell her how far from the truth that is.

But he doesn't.

He stands there in the hot summer air, wishing he hadn't quit smoking when he was nineteen because the smoke made Sammy sick. Wishing he had a bottle of Jack Daniels to drown all his troubles in. Wishing he had some random girl to throw himself into and pretend with. But all he's got are these thoughts of her floating around in the space of his mind and the feelings rattle in their cages, begging to be released. He draws in a deep breath, closes his eyes and sees her.

''Fucking hell, Dean,'' he mutters to himself, opening his eyes and dropping his face into his hands. ''Quit acting like a friggin' chick.''

Shaking his head in disgust, he braces his hands against the railing and stares at the stars in the sky for a long moment. He stares at the twinkling lights until the blur in front of him and until he realizes how tired he really is. Swallowing hard, he pushes off the railing that is not as sturdy as it should be and turns around to face the heat of the motel room. He stops dead in his tracks when he enters, eyes falling on her.

She is rising on unsteady feet, stumbling away from Sam and towards Dean. ''Sam fusses in his sleep when it's hot out,'' she's muttering, sounding decidedly pissed off. ''Like a fucking baby. He fucking kicked me. I swear, if I have a bruise there tomorrow, I'm gonna kick him and see how he likes it.'' Without another word, she crawls into Dean's bed, closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.

He stands in the doorway, open mouthed and wide eyed. He's pretty sure she hadn't actually been talking to him, considering she hadn't looked at him once and her words were slurred and she was practically asleep as she fell into the bed. But still...She's in his bed. She's in his freaking bed. She. Is. In. His. Bed.

Well, isn't that what he wanted?

For an unbearable moment, he remains rooted to the ground, watching as her breathing evens out and she is lost in the dreamworld again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he reminds himself to breathe and wills himself forwards, quietly shutting the door behind him. He is silent as he moves towards the bed, eyes locked on her sleeping form. He tries to remain blank as he crosses his arms and stares down at her, but he's memorizing everything about the way she looks right now and the longing in his eyes is clear as day.

She looks beautiful, even in her sleep. Sweat dampened strands of blond hair fall in her flushed face and her chest rises and falls steadily. She looks peaceful. A word that is not normally paired with their life. She looks like Sleeping Beauty, all blond tendrils and delicate skin. She looks like she would break if he touched her when in reality she is the one who does the breaking. And he should be able to stop himself. He should be able to keep control. But he can't. His fingers twitch and he reaches for her before he can stop himself. Gently, he brushes hair out of her eyes and when his fingertips graze her skin, fevered from the heat of the room, he forgets how to breathe...

...and he explodes.

So, yeah.

He's kind of in love with her.


He draws his hand away from her skin as if he's been burned and backs up until he can collapse into a chair, head falling forwards into his hands.

Son of a bitch.

Dean Winchester has never been one for maps or lists or plans of any kind really, he runs into things with no plans, guns blazing, arrogance in his swagger and acid on his tongue and foresight is not really something he thinks about. But this is unexpected. Jesus Christ, he's in love with her. How did that happen? A hunter in love with a demon. He scoffs at the thought. What a story. What a way to break the rules. What would his precious father think of him now?

Sitting back against the chair, he remains that stoic, stone eyed hunter he has always been and stares at her with an unflinching gaze that never wavers. Not even for a second. When you stay up all night just to watch someone're in too deep.

He is in too deep.

Green eyes focus on her and he watches her, matching her every breath with ease.

Yes, he's in love with Ruby.

So much it hurts.

But she, he decides, as he watches her sleep, she will never know.