AN: I HAVE NO IDEA WHY THIS WAS SO HARD TO WRITE.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize.
love is a river
Written by Becks Rylynn
Dean opens his eyes and all he can hear is, ''Life is a road and I wanna keep going, love is a river I want to keep flowing.''
Nothing new there, really.
Anastasia is a constant in the Lance/Winchester household. Mary regularly forces Tommy and Sara to do elaborate performances of At the Beginning when they're over (although ''forces'' is a strong word, especially considering Dean is like seventy five percent sure that Tommy is the one who suggests these performances), Once Upon a December has been her lullaby since before she was even born, it's her go to movie when she's sick or sad, she's been Anastasia for Halloween for the past two years, and one day she pulled up the soundtrack on Youtube and played it ten times in a row. It's not a bad movie - there are certainly worse movies she could be addicted to - but if she could just branch out every now and then that would be great because that At the Beginning song really grates on the nerves once you've heard it thirty times in one day.
He misses the Captain America phase she went through. That was awesome. She made Dean and Laurel be the Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter to her Steve Rogers and she had to save them from the evil Red Skull aka a very confused and possibly mildly offended Annabelle. Not that he doesn't love singing duets with her, but singing I See the Light with her gets a tiring after the fifth time. But hey. Guess it could be worse. At least she's not addicted to Frozen and playing Let It Go on a constant loop. ...Anymore. (That was a dark time. We don't talk about that.)
This is his life now.
If he's not out getting his vigilante on, you can usually find Dean Winchester either having a tea party or playing space cowboys with his girls. Tonight he did both. This is definitely not where he thought he would end up. Honestly, there are times when he's still not convinced this is real and not some weird coma dream.
Dean lifts his head as much as he can, groping around for the remote control, but he can't actually move. He's got a crick in his neck, a warm weight on his chest, and another on his stomach. Those would be his girls. Annabelle is curled up fast asleep on his chest, mouth open, drooling all over his shirt. Mary is tangled up in her usual cocoon of blankets, half of her body draped over his, using him as a pillow.
He's been puppy piled again.
His fingers just barely graze the remote control and, after a minute or two of struggling, he manages to grab it, pull it over to him and he clicks the television off. In the sudden darkness, he drops his head back down and tries to think about how he's going to get up without waking the girls up. Despite the nest of blankets and pillows in the fort they made, his body is still painfully aware that he's lying on the uncomfortable floor and he'd really like to get up. Not to mention the mess in the kitchen from his and Mary's milkshake experiment has to be cleaned up before Laurel gets home, he still has laundry to do, and the girls should be in their own beds.
He closes his eyes. It's quiet except for the sound of his children's steady breathing. He thinks that sound is better than any lullaby he has ever heard. Well, hey. If this is some sort of coma dream and he never woke up after that car accident with Dad and Sam, then whatever. Best dream ever. He relaxes, moving one hand to Annabelle's back. Screw it. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for him to sleep a couple more minutes. Laurel probably won't be home for hours. He's got time.
He is half asleep when he hears the sound of clawed feet clicking on the hardwood floors, coming closer and closer. His eyes snap open and he turns his head just in time to see Mary's canine BFF duck under the blanket and then suddenly there's a goofy pit bull staring down at him with her dopey, kind of creepy dog smile, panting and waiting for something.
Dean stares back. ''What do you want?'' He mumbles out.
She keeps staring.
''Fuck off,'' he rasps.
She inches closer to him, almost hesitantly, and then drops her head down to nuzzle at his neck.
Damn it.
''Okay,'' he grunts. ''Fine. But if they cry, it's your fault.'' Reluctantly, he slowly moves to sit up. Annabelle is the first one to stir. She makes a quiet whimpering noise, nose scrunching up in annoyance, and then she starts crying. ''Ssshh, I know, Belle, I know.'' He rubs her back, shushing her gently and trying to get her to calm down. ''I know you were sleeping. Daddy's sorry, kiddo.'' Rather childishly, he throws a glare at the dog and hisses out, ''See what you did, Alice?'' In response, she lets out a guilty whine and hangs her head, looking absolutely pitiful. He sighs. Well, now he feels bad. Stupid literal puppy dog eyes.
''Daddy?'' Mary's normally squeaky little voice is slurred and hoarse. She sits up, groggily rubbing at her eyes and pouting. She yawns into her stuffed puppy dog and then peers up at him, mouth turned down into that concerned frown of hers, just like her mother's. ''Is Mom home?'' She sounds worried. That's not surprising. Mary has always been so much like her mother - perpetually worried, far too serious, and the kindest person he has ever met, filled with a need to help anyone who needs help, to take care of others, especially her parents and her little sister. Dean loves that about her, he does, but it also scares the hell out of him. Mary has always been the person who is constantly putting others before herself and he doesn't want that to put her in danger like it put her mother in danger, like it put him in danger.
''No, bug, not yet.'' He brushes a strand of her messy, tangled honey blonde hair out of her eyes and offers her a smile.
''Why's Annie crying?''
''She's just tired.'' He gently pushes Alice away from Annabelle when she nudges worriedly at the fussy one year old with her nose, trying to lick away her tears. ''Alice,'' he warns. ''Sit down.'' Annabelle, still sniffling and whimpering, hides her face in Dean's chest, small hands clenching and unclenching around Dean's shirt. She keeps one eye on Alice. The dog whines again and lies down on her belly, still staring intently at Annabelle. The baby lets out a choked laugh and then turns away, wiping tears and snot on the drool spot she already left on her father's shirt and hiding her face so Alice won't know she's smiling. To Mary, Dean says, ''It's time for bed, Mare. Go upstairs and brush your teeth, all right? I have to take Alice out.''
Mary's eyes widen, like he's just told her to go to bed while he goes off to Disneyland by himself, and she pushes herself up onto her knees. ''Oooh, can I take her outside?''
Dean hauls himself to his feet and shifts Annabelle onto his hip. ''It's late, Mary.''
''Please. Please, please, pleeeease.'' Mary is suddenly wide awake, bouncing on her knees excitedly. ''I'll go to sleep right after, I promise, okay? Okay, Daddy?''
He blinks. Now that's another thing he's never going to understand. He gets that Alice is Mary's best friend, but what the hell is so exciting about taking her out to the backyard? She's just going to run around in circles, pee on Laurel's flowers, and purposefully take a dump in a spot where she knows someone will step on it. Alice may be the wimpiest dog ever known to man and the worst guard dog ever but even she has her sassy streak. At this point sass is practically a requirement in this family. To be fair, most of Mary and Alice's relationship consists of Alice digging up worms for Mary to ''save'' and keep as pets because Mary loves all living things. Even the disgusting, slimy ones. ''No worms,'' he tells her. ''And don't antagonize Mrs. Foster's cat.''
'' 'Kay!'' Mary leaps to her feet and takes off running. ''Come on, Alice!'' She calls, and Alice jumps up from her spot on the floor and goes galloping after her.
Dean looks down at Annabelle. She stares up at him innocently and stuffs her thumb into her mouth. When he takes it out of her mouth, she narrows her eyes and sends him a death glare. ''Your sister's gonna grow up to be just like your Auntie Sara, isn't she? Three dogs, an asshole cat with a brand new litter of kittens, two horses, and a freakin' turtle.'' Annabelle looks up at him, blinking owlishly, and then she puts her thumb in her mouth again.
He's really too tired to play that game tonight - the one where she sucks her thumb, he tells her not to, she throws a hissy fit, and then she slowly puts her thumb in her mouth, completely ignoring his warnings because she knows he won't do shit about it - so he lets it go. Laurel is determined to nip that particular bad habit in the bud before Belle winds up an eleven year old who still sucks her thumb and has an overbite (which is apparently what happened to Sara) but Laurel's not here right now. ''Okay, baby girl,'' he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. ''Just this once, Belle.''
In the kitchen, Mary has just finished pulling her shoes on by the back door. Alice is sitting patiently by the door, tongue hanging out of her mouth, eyes following Mary's every movement, watching as she tugs on her jacket. ''Don't take too long, bug,'' Dean tells her, turning away from her to survey the mess covering most of the counter. The dishes from dinner are still piled in the sink and the blender is a fucking disaster. It's still half full of melted chocolate chip milkshake mess and the other half of the concoction is splattered all over the surrounding counter space. There's even some on the ceiling.
Annabelle says something that sounds a little bit like, ''Ew,'' and lays her head on his shoulder. He hears the back door open, hears Alice let out an excited bark, and then, ''Oh!'' Dean whirls around at the sound of his daughter's startled yelp, body on high alert, and raises his eyebrows at the sight before him.
The Black Canary is standing in the doorway.
For a minute, nobody says anything. Mary stares up at the superhero in the doorway with huge eyes, mouth open. She looks her up and down with wonder and awe clear in her eyes. Dean feels a slow smile pull at his lips. Sometimes he feels like Mary forgets just who her mother is after she tucks her in at night. She knows what her parents do. She knows her mother does more than run a PI firm with Auntie Sara, she knows her dad is more than a mechanic, and she knows she's not allowed to talk about that with any of her friends. She reads all the comic books about Black Canary and Green Arrow, Huntress and Speedy and all the others. But it's different seeing it up close. Mary has rarely seen her mother in her full Black Canary gear, complete with the wig and the lipstick and the mask. This is a good reminder that her mother is more than just the parent who makes them eat healthy and go to bed on time. She's a badass leather clad vigilante.
But then Black Canary points a finger at her and says, ''You should be in bed, young lady,'' and it's Laurel's voice and Laurel's mom point and the illusion is ruined.
Mary recovers swiftly. ''Hi, Mom,'' she chirps, wrapping her arms around Laurel's waist in a quick hug. ''Gotta take Alice out!'' And then she's bounding off into the night after Alice.
Laurel watches her go and then steps into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her and pulling off her gloves. When she swivels her gaze to Dean, hands on her hips, he grins. ''Why, Black Canary,'' he does his best impression of a thick Southern accent and flutters his eyelashes. ''Have you come to take me away from my boring life as a house husband?''
''Absolutely.'' She slinks closer to him. ''I'm here to be your Harlequin romance novel lover.'' She steps into his personal space, brings her hand to the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. ''Prepare to be ravished, Dean Winchester,'' she mumbles against his lips. She pulls away, wiping smudges of dark lipstick from his mouth with her thumb, and she winks at him.
He chuckles. ''Be still my heart.''
Annabelle, on the other hand, gives her a decidedly cool welcome home. When Laurel turns to her and greets her with a cheerful, ''Hi, my girl!'' Annabelle makes a distressed noise and shrinks away from her mother.
Wriggling, she starts screaming, ''Air! Air!'' Which, after a lot of confusion on Dean and Laurel's part and a lot of frustration on Annabelle's part, they have figured out means Mare. She doesn't call out for oxygen when she's scared. She calls for her big sister. Because their kids are fucking adorable like that and they seem to deeply enjoy throwing that in their faces as much as possible.
''Laur,'' Dean grasps one of the numerous buckles on her suit and pulls her closer when he catches sight of the mild hurt in her eyes. ''Babe, it's the wig and the mask. She doesn't recognize you.''
''Oh. Oh!'' Laurel quickly pulls off the platinum blonde wig and the mask, dumping them on the counter with her gloves. ''I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to scare you.'' She shakes out her recently brunette again hair and smiles, a little tentatively, at Annabelle. ''See, love, it's just me.'' Despite her suspicious frown, Annabelle lets her mother take her from her father's arms and instantly starts pulling at Laurel's hair and tugging at the buckles on the Black Canary suit. All is well that ends well.
''You're home early,'' Dean comments. He slips the chain around his neck over his head and holds it out to her.
''Slow night,'' she shrugs. She plops herself down on the floor with Annabelle on her lap and when the baby makes a grab for the chain, she holds it out of her reach. ''My girls told me to go home to my other girls.'' Laurel takes her wedding ring off the chain and puts it back on her ring finger, where it belongs. ''And my guy. Hey,'' she looks up from Annabelle and levels Dean with one of those looks. ''Two quick questions,'' she starts. He braces himself. ''One: What happened to our kitchen? Two: Why are our very young children awake at two in the morning?''
.
.
.
Laurel gently tugs the pale yellow baby blanket over the half asleep Annabelle. She runs her index finger over her daughter's soft cheek and smiles down at the baby girl. ''Goodnight, love,'' she whispers, rubbing Annabelle's belly. ''Get some sleep.''
She tip toes out of the nursery, baby monitor clutched tight to her chest.
She has to admit that as much as she genuinely enjoys being the Black Canary, she does miss this. Sure, on the nights when Dean is out on the streets, she's the one putting the girls to bed or letting them crawl into bed with her for cuddles and she loves those nights, really, but... She misses being a team. The nights where both she and Dean are home to parent their girls together are the best nights. She wishes they had a chance to have more of those normal nights. She knows that this is the life they chose. She knows that there are certain sacrifices that have to be made. They were given the chance to retire after Annabelle was born and they didn't take it. They didn't want to retire. They still don't. But still. It would be nice to have more time together.
Maybe she should talk to the rest of the Birds about taking a sabbatical. She hasn't had a real break in a long time. Or, you know, ever. When she was pregnant with Annabelle, she took a break from active fighting but she still ran the command central and then after Annabelle was born, she took the shortest maternity leave possible while Dean took an extended leave. Maybe some time off would be a good idea. She is feeling a little run down. Even just a vacation. They could take the kids to Hawaii. Or Disneyland. She's positive she could convince Oliver to let them stay at the Queen's Lake Tahoe cabin for a weekend.
Of course the problem with that plan is that Dean has his own ducklings and his own operation to run, and he's just gotten back into the swing of things. He was the one who took the long paternity leave after Annabelle was born and basically became a full time stay at a home dad for nearly a year, only stepping in if there was an ''all vigilantes affiliated with the Justice League in a non-villainous way please report to Green Arrow headquarters and pretend to listen to what Green Arrow and Batman are saying (but really listen to what the Canary sisters and Felicity Smoak are saying)'' crisis situation. She can't ask him to take even more time off.
Laurel leaves the door to the nursery open a crack and heads down the hall to Mary's room. As quietly as possible, she pushes open the door and pokes her head into the bedroom. Alice, curled up at the foot of the bed, opens one eye, but doesn't bother lifting her head. Worst guard dog ever. Mary is sleeping peacefully under her purple comforter and Dean is squished into the too small bed next to her, comic book open on his chest, fast asleep. Laurel hesitates, biting down on her bottom lip. She almost doesn't want to wake him. She creeps towards the bed, avoiding the creaky floorboard. She takes the comic book from Dean and flips it closed.
Black Canary, fishnets and all, stares up at her. In the past few years, Starling City has really started to capitalize on their vigilante infestation. First it was t-shirts and hoodies and ball caps, then it was action figures, then a local band called The Vigilantes put out a CD and each song title was a name of one of the Starling City Vigilantes (as the news calls them) and the band wound up making it big, and then, about a year ago, came the comic books. Despite her many issues with the comic books that depict fictionalized versions of her and all the other heroes (her suit does not look like that, okay?), she is willing to admit that the fact that her daughter fangirls over Black Canary is incredibly flattering. Even if she does think the comic book BC is ''cooler.''
''Dean,'' she leans down to whisper in his ear. ''Honey, wake up.'' She presses a kiss to his temple, and then his cheek, and then moves down his jaw line.
He stirs, scrubbing a hand over his face, and then he makes the mistake of rolling over. Laurel jumps back, out of his way, and he lands on the floor with a heavy thud. He does pop right back up with remarkable speed though, so she takes that to mean he's probably fine. Mary opens her eyes, mumbles something incoherent, and then rolls over and goes back to sleep. ''Wow, okay,'' Laurel reaches out to curl a hand around the back of his neck. ''That was graceful. Are you all right?''
''I meant to do that,'' he says.
Even Alice, who actually did lift her head when he toppled onto the ground, doesn't look like she believes him.
''I'm sure you did,'' Laurel puts a hand on his back to guide him out of the room. She pats him on the back reassuringly. ''Make like Taylor Swift and shake it off, sweetie.''
''You're funny.''
''And you're a Swifty.'' He laughs, but doesn't reply with a snarky comment. Just wraps an arm around her and drops a kiss to the top of her head. She winds her arms around his waist and says, quietly, ''You're a good dad, you know.''
He stiffens, uncomfortable with the compliment, and then shrugs. ''Eh, they're easy kids.'' Then to change the subject, he says, ''Hey, you too tired to ravish me?''
''Oh, sweetheart,'' she says, leaning up to catch his lips in hers. ''I'm never too tired to ravish you. That's how we got the kids.''
You know, lucky isn't exactly a word she has always used to describe herself and her life. Too much has happened. She's been through too much, lost too much, fallen too hard, been abused and manipulated and gaslighted and lied to and tortured... She's seen the bottom, and it was devastating.
But then there's her girls. Mary - the sweet, amazingly kind, hilariously funny, animal loving little girl who has always been incredibly shy but still loves to sing and dance with her parents and little sister. Annabelle - the tiny dramatic diva who came into the world three weeks early and screams the house down if she doesn't get her way. And then there's Dean... There aren't enough words to describe everything he's given her or how many times he's saved her.
She is quite certain that she would probably not be here today if it weren't for these three lovable nerds.
So, okay. Maybe lucky hasn't always been the best way to describe her life. But now, here, in her home in this quiet Starling neighborhood, with her gorgeous husband and their beautiful girls, she can definitely say that lucky is 100% an accurate description of her life.
end
AN: The original request: ''Im not sure if you take requests or not, but maybe you could use this as some idea or something! Do you think you could write a Drabble or short fic of Dean and Laurel having a daughter? I'd love to see some Daddy!Dean !''
Hope you enjoyed it, anon! :)