we have the fairy tales by heart

by Becks Rylynn

Six late night talks Dean had with his daughter throughout the course of her life. Lila Bray 'verse. Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester!

AN: Basically... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAN WINCHESTER! This story is a monster, guys. It's a monster. I have to apologize for the extra long author's notes but this monster comes with instructions. Well, not so much instructions. But it comes with bonus commentary.

I'm sure you guys know this about me already, but I love the Lila Bray 'verse. More specifically, I love writing about the relationship that exists between Dean and Bray. I honestly think that relationship is one of the best things I have ever created. Excuse me for tooting my own horn quite loudly there. So, I knew I wanted to write a Lila Bray 'verse fic for Dean's birthday this year, and I knew I wanted there to be a lot of Daddy and Bray Time (FYI, this puppy came so close to actually being titled ''Daddy and Bray Time'') and I also knew that I love five times fics. They are like my crack. Originally, it was between this one and ''Five Deaths That Never Happened in the Lila Bray 'verse'' (including Bobby's tangle with Dick Roman, which never ended fatally in the LB 'verse) but Kathey and I both thought that was a little too angsty for a birthday fic. And so this was born. And believe me when I say that this is so fluffy I want to die. I think this very well may be the fluffiest monster I have ever written. It is so damn sweet and fluffy that it will make you teeth hurt. It's like cotton candy.

Oh, and by the way, I can't believe I'm actually getting this story posted on Dean's birthday! Yay for that! I'm still on my fanfiction hiatus, but I always planned on writing a fic for Dean's birthday. And then late last week I realized I hadn't started one, so I quickly started this one and I have been working on it since. It's been a pain in my ass, but I'm actually quite proud of it.

Now, just a refresher: In the Lila Bray 'verse, Dean and Ruby have Lila Bray and Connor. Bobby and Jody are married. Cas is back in their lives (and I've been debating back and forth with myself whether or not he's an angel). Sam and Sarah are happily married, and they also have five kids. Nick, Carrie, Johnny, Eli, and Paige. And the whole family is stationed in Sioux Falls because prior to this season, whenever Dean and Sam had a choice of where to go, they always chose Sioux Falls.

Suggested Listening:
Part One: Dream a Little Dream of Me by The Mamas and the Papas (aka Bray's lullaby and the entire theme of the Lila Bray 'verse)
Part Two: The Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke
Part Three: Look After You by The Fray
Part Four: When You Find Me by Joshua Radin featuring Maria Taylor
Part Five: Selfless by It's Alive
Part Six: Comes and Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell
Bonus Track: Sky's Still Blue by Andrew Belle

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Title: we have the fairy tales by heart
Summary: Six late night talks Dean had with his daughter throughout the course of her life. Lila Bray 'verse. Happy Birthday, Dean!
Pairing(s): Minor Dean/Ruby and Alex/Bray.
Characters: Dean, Lila Bray, Ruby, Sam, other assorted Lila Bray 'verse characters.
Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T for language.
Timeline: Honestly, the timelines for this story are all over the place.
Spoilers: I'd say there are blanket spoilers for the entire series of Supernatural, but the main spoilers are spoilers for the Lila Bray 'verse.
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Notes: Title from the poem of the same name by Dylan Thomas.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that you have seen in the show. Everyone else is mine.

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we have the fairy tales by heart

Written by Becks Rylynn

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''A daughter is the happy memories of the past, the joyful moments of the present, and the hope and promise of the future.''

- Unknown

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/i/

i didn't know i'd love you so much

but i do...

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Dean is dreaming of fairy tales.

And he doesn't mean Hans Christian Anderson or the Grimm brothers. And he certainly doesn't mean any of Walt Disney's shit. He means a Winchester family fairy tale. Warm summer days, green grass, ice cold beers, Sam, Ruby, Bobby, a home for his family, and the most beautiful little girl in the entire world. These are the dreams he has now, replacing hot chicks and giant Philly cheese steaks. He's fine with that. He thinks he likes these dreams better anyway. He dreams of simplicity. Happiness. Peace.

There is a part of him that is convinced his dreams are doomed to be just that. Dreams. Nothing more. There is another part of him - the small part that still has hope and optimism - that wants to do whatever it takes to make his dreams come true. Not for him. For his little girl. She deserves that.

It is mid December and for the past two weeks, he has been running on fumes. Less than. He can honestly say that he doesn't mind all that much. They've been the best two weeks of his life. He has a daughter. He'll run on anything just to be with her. He still can't believe he has a daughter. He keeps expecting to wake up and have it all be some sort of crazy, bizarre, wonderful dream. But every night, without fail, he is torn from his sleep by the sound of crying, a sound that reminds him that this is real. This is his life.

Tonight is no different.

And thank God for that.

At four fifteen - precisely seventeen minutes and eight seconds since Ruby collapsed back into bed after feeding the baby - the sound of crying blares through the baby monitor, crystal clear and loud.

Dean forces open his heavy eyelids at the sound, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling through bleary eyes.

Beside him, Ruby stirs and hides her face in her pillow. ''No.'' She pulls the pillow out from under her head and tries to smother herself with it. ''It's impossible,'' she complains in a raspy whimper. ''I just fed her. I changed her, I burped her, I fucking sang to that little girl...I fucking sang to her, Dean... Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper ''I love you'', now go the fuck to sleep... I don't understand.'' She sounds near tears, ready to breakdown at any given moment. ''What does she want? Does she want money?''

He is already crawling out of bed and rising to his feet, with some difficulty, limbs protesting. ''I'll get her,'' he whispers, voice sounding like he's just swallowed a handful of glass. ''You go back to sleep.''

''Oh my god,'' she slurs from underneath the pillow. ''I love you.''

He stops. His stomach does a flip flop thing that sends his heart soaring right into his throat. She has never said that before. He said it once - right after she gave birth - and all he got in return was a laugh and a yeah, I figured. ''What?''

''...What?''

''You just said - ''

''No, I didn't.''

''Ruby - ''

''Go get the baby, Dean.''

Smirking to himself, eyelids still heavy, vision still blurred, he staggers over to the door and manages to pull it open on the first try. He runs into the doorframe and stubs his toe on his way out, but he's too tired to even feel the pain. He stumbles down the hallway and all the way into the nursery, rushing over to the crib. She is a tiny little girl, almost too small for his big hands, but she has a healthy pair of lungs on her. They're the Winchester lungs. She is lying in her crib, body wiggling, little face scrunched up as she wails at the top of her lungs. ''Hey there, sunshine,'' he rumbles. Feeling a little more alert, Dean reaches into the crib to lift her into his arms with a painstaking amount of care. ''What's up with the screaming?''

The second she is in her daddy's arms, she seems to calm down somewhat, her ear splitting cries lowering ever so slightly. Once he has eliminated a dirty diaper and a fever as the cause of her upset, he sighs and settles himself in the rocking chair by the window. ''So, what's your problem, huh?'' He questions, stifling a yawn. Her cries grow quiet and die down into fading whimpers. ''Were you just lonely?'' He leans back against the hard back of the chair. ''Oh, darlin', you never have to worry about being lonely. Your life is going to be weird as hell, but I'll be damned - again - if you ever have to deal with loneliness.''

In response to his sleep deprived and heartfelt declaration, she drools.

He laughs. ''Yeah, that's gross.'' He brushes the drool away with his thumb, wiping it off on his shirt distractedly. She is silent in his arms, save for a few squeaking noises, and her eyes are wide open. Her teeny fists open and close and her mouth works soundlessly, producing even more drool for her dad to mop up with the clean cloth he manages to yank off the changing table. ''Lila Bray,'' he says conversationally. ''I would like to take this Daddy and Bray time to confess something to you: I really have no idea what the fuck I'm doing.'' He licks his lips. ''I've never done this before. I mean, there was Sam, but that...that was different. You are all mine, kiddo. But hey. If I fuck up - and I will fuck up - you'll forgive me, won't you?'' He smiles down at her. ''Of course you will. Because you're daddy's girl, aren't you?'' He tickles her belly gently. ''Okay, how about this?'' He proposes. ''You and I... We're both new at this. We both have no idea what we're going. So we'll learn together. Does that sound good, my little...ladybug?'' He replays that in his head and makes a face, scrunching up his nose in distaste. ''That doesn't work. Sweetie pie? Nah, too common. Dumpling? Sunshine? Moonshine? Cutie pie? Sugar?''

The baby makes a noise and her blue eyes stare into his.

He feels his breath catch. ''Sugar? Is that the one?'' He laughs softly as she closes her fist around the fabric of his shirt. ''All right, then. Sugar it is.'' He stares down at her with an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat. ''I can't promise you much right now,'' he informs her regretfully. ''Things are just too fucked up and unpredictable for too many promises. But I can promise you one thing: I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you have a good life.'' He stops and silences, waiting for a response that won't come.

Lila Bray reaches up one hand and pulls on the amulet around his neck.

He lets out a choked little laugh.

''I'm in for a lifetime of trouble with you, aren't I, my sugar?''

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Ruby wakes up at five thirty in the morning, jerked out of sleep by the lack of her daughter's cries. The silence makes her panic. She jumps out of bed and throws on her robe, sprinting out the door and down the hallway. As soon as she reaches the nursery, she lets out a breath and sags against the door in relief.

Dean is sitting in the rocking chair, fast asleep, with their daughter sleeping peacefully in his safe and warm arms.

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/ii/

though we're consumed by loves and doubts

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Dean stares down at the hospital bills and the doctor's bills and the bank statements, and he wills them all to change, to become lower, more affordable numbers that don't make his head spin and won't send him off into the night to sell himself in order to become more solvent.

The numbers do not change.

He sighs. ''Well, that's it then,'' he mutters to himself, clicking his tongue in shame. ''Tomorrow I'm going to have to start turning tricks.''

All jokes aside, it's really not that funny. In fact, it's not funny at all. They have one income right now - his - because Ruby had to quit her job when it got too hard for her to be on her feet for that long and a mechanic's salary is not enough to cover all of the hospital bills and normal life. Bobby and Jody, Sam and Sarah, Cas... They all want to help, but none of them are particularly in a situation to help.

He's drowning.

The situation is dire at best and with each day that passes being more unpredictable than the last, he is becoming more and more afraid of the inevitably bumpy road that lies ahead of them.

His wife is beautiful.

She's the strongest person he knows, stronger than him, stronger than most; she's powerful and wonderful and infuriating and crazy and he counts his lucky stars every day that she finally agreed to marry him. They haven't even been married a full year yet. He cannot even begin to imagine what he would do without her and these days that question seems closer than ever, hanging over his head like a black cloud.

Ruby is five months pregnant. And she is very, very sick. That is putting it gently. The doctors have made it painfully clear that this is a high risk pregnancy - the goddamn highest - and both mother and baby are in danger. It seems like no matter what she does, no matter how hard she fights, things just keep going wrong. Horrific morning sickness (eventually diagnosed as hypermesis gravidarum), gestational diabetes, a threatened miscarriage, the very real and very terrifying possibility of birth defects, and right now she is spending her night in the hospital (again) for observation due to what the ER staff had thought was a pulmonary embolism. It wasn't, thank God, but they're still not sure what is causing her breathing difficulties and the not knowing is torture.

Do you have any idea how petrifying it is to have to rush your pregnant wife to the hospital because she can't breathe properly, only to be told by an ER doc with a downright awful bedside manner that she might be dying? (If you do know what that feels like then you must know how satisfying it is to then shove said ass monkey up against a wall and threaten to strangle him with his own stethoscope.) Do you have any idea what it's like to then have to leave your wife alone in the hospital for the night to go home and pretend everything's all right when it's clearly not?

He tries to take comfort in the fact that she is not all alone, that Cas is with her (because Cas is always with her) and he tries to take comfort in the fact that his daughter is happy and healthy and that Sam is happy and healthy and his nephew is happy and healthy, but...

It never ends. It's like it never ends.

Ruby's body - human and fragile - just doesn't seem to want to stay pregnant. The last two miscarriages (not to mention the two miscarriages she had in her first human life) have proven that. He doesn't know what life will be like if they lose another baby. But she's Ruby. Her body may not want to be pregnant, but she wants that baby. She wants that baby - that little boy - so badly and when she wants something, she usually gets it.

And then there's Bray. His little girl is almost as good at pretending as he is. She tries to be stoic. She tries her little heart out, he can tell that much. But the panic attacks that have been becoming more and more frequent tell a different story. She misses her mom and she misses her dad and she worries far more than she should about everyone and everything. She has always been a major worrier. It's her heart. It's bigger than life. She cares much too much.

He is trying so hard to be Mr. Mom while Ruby is out of commission. He is trying to give Bray all the attention that she needs. But Ruby... She's never been this fragile before, human and pregnant and weak and sick, and it has just recently hit him that this is the first time - the first ever time - that he has truly been afraid of losing her. They've been through a lot, but he has always had so much faith in her. He has always believed in her. He still does, of course, it's just...

He cannot fight this for her. Can't slay it. Can't kill it. The outcome of this depends entirely on her body. Not him, not Cas, not Sam, not her. Her body. And bodies can fail. She is fragile and she could die.

(They are all a little fragile right now.)

Fuck this.

It is way too late to be doing this shit.

Dean sighs again and leans his elbows on the desk, pen falling out of his hand. He digs the heels of his palm into his tired eyes. It's clear that the numbers are not going to be changing anytime soon. Maybe he should just go to bed. It's one in the morning and tomorrow's a busy day. Bray's got a spelling bee, Ruby's in the hospital, cars need to be repaired, and groceries need to be bought. He's not going to be good for anything if he doesn't get some sleep. With a disappointed shake of his head, he hastily gathers up the bills and tosses them into a drawer, determined to forget about them long enough to get a few hours of sleep. If he's lucky. He pushes the chair back and stands, clicking off the dying lamp (note to self: add light bulbs to the ever growing shopping list) before heading towards the stairs.

There is a random stuffed animal lying on the stairs, a bunny with long ears. One of its ears dangles over the ledge of the stairs and hangs limply in the air as the pitiful bunny rabbit lies on its back and stares at the ceiling with vacant and lifeless eyes. It's eerie. Almost macabre and grotesque in nature. His tired and aching brain takes it as an omen. Almost as soon as that thought enters his head, he shakes it away stubbornly and sweeps in to save the bunny from a long and lonely night on the cold staircase. He does his best to be quiet as he marches himself up the stairs; stepping over the creaky step and moving extra slow in an effort not to wake his daughter. He yawns as he trudges down the hall, still clutching the sad little bunny. He is eager to sleep but he is dreading the too large and too empty bed.

He passes by Bray's bedroom and he's almost to his own room when he stops suddenly and has to backtrack. In her bed, illuminated by the soft glow of her lamp, Bray is wide awake, sitting up with her new glasses perched on her nose and her homework that he is sure he already checked spread out all around her. ''Lila Bray?'' She looks up at the sound of her voice and he sees the way her face is pinched tight in worry. He frowns and steps into the room, setting the bunny down carefully on top of her dollhouse. ''Sugar, what are you doing up?'' He asks gently. ''I thought you went to sleep hours ago.''

''I did,'' she responds simply. ''But then I woke up.''

''I can see that.'' He takes a seat on her bed, moving away some of the strewn about papers. ''But it's late, angel. You need to get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.''

''Daddy,'' she chews on her lip. ''I'm worried.''

''About your spelling bee?''

She nods and pushes her glasses back up on her face. ''What if I forget how to spell all the words? What if I can't say anything because I'm too nervous? Everyone will laugh at me.'' She scowls and picks at her ratty old comforter that she won't let her parents get rid of. ''If Alex laughs at me, I'm gonna punch him in the throat,'' she grumbles under her breath.

He laughs. ''Well,'' he clears his throat and shifts through the papers, searching through them until he finds what he's looking for. ''Let's give it a try, okay?''

She shrugs. ''Okay.''

''Ready?''

She nods.

''Spell apple.''

''A-P-P-L-E.''

''Good girl. Now do heart.''

''H-E-A-R-T.''

''Mouse.''

''M-O-U-S-E.''

''Bananas.''

''Um.'' She falters. ''B-A-N...N - No, wait! Wait!'' She draws in a deep breath and takes off her glasses, fiddling with them as she puckers her lips in thought. ''B-A-N-A-N-A-S.''

He beams at her. ''My baby's a genius,'' he declares proudly, abandoning the list and reaching over to tickle her. Her laughs are tired and humorless sounding and when he stops the smile fades from her face almost instantly. ''Sugar, you know these words by heart. You're going to do great.''

She nods and smiles, but doesn't look too terribly convinced. She pulls her zebra into her arms and hugs him tight. ''Are you going to be there?''

''Front and center.''

''Is anyone...else going to be there?''

''Uncle Cas and Aunt Sarah are going to be there for sure. Grandpa Bobby said he'll try and make it. We'll record it for everyone else. And you know your Aunt Sarah will take a million pictures.''

Bray doesn't even crack a smile. ''But not Mom?''

He releases a sigh. ''Oh, sugar.'' He brushes hair out of her eyes. ''I don't know. It depends on what the doctor says.'' She stares down at Bart, looking crushed and he flicks his gaze to the ceiling. He has no idea what to say next. Sometimes it is so horribly obvious that he has no idea what he's doing, isn't it? ''I know she really wanted to see you,'' he murmurs regretfully.

She plays with Bart's ears. ''Yeah.'' She keeps her eyes downcast and he stays silent. She won't look him in the eye as she reaches over to put her glasses on her bedside table. He wonders if some part of her blames him for what's happening to her mother. He doesn't think he would blame her if she did. ''I think I want to go to sleep now,'' she announces after a minute has passed in painful silence.

He nods, stands, and curses himself for not saying anything. ''Okay, darlin'.'' He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head and takes her homework off her bed, putting them on her desk. When he turns back, she's lying under the covers with her back to him. ''Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?''

She shakes her head no. ''That's okay.''

There should be more. He should say something. He knows he should say something. Something to make it better. Something to offer her a small piece of comfort. But he doesn't know what to say and he doesn't know how to make things better.

Ruby, he is sure, would know what to say.

''Goodnight, sugar,'' he settles on. ''I love you.''

''Love you,'' she echoes.

He turns slowly and starts for the door.

''Daddy.''

He stops and turns back to her. ''Hmm?''

''Is Mommy going to die?''

Holy shit.

Jesus Christ, that hurts like hell.

''What?'' He croaks out. ''No!''

She rolls onto her back, tears shining brightly in her eyes. ''Are you sure?'' She cries. ''Because...'' She pushes herself back into a sitting position, lips trembling, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. ''Because she's really sick, Daddy. And I try not to worry and I try to be strong for her and I try to be brave like you told me, but...I get so scared without her. And I feel so sad and scared and lost and I can't stop worrying. I don't mean to, Daddy. I'm sorry.'' She's blubbering by the end of her speech and he feels like he can't breathe.

''Lila Bray,'' he breathes out, wrapping her up in his arms. ''You don't have to be sorry, love. It's okay to be scared. I'm scared.''

''Y-You are?'' She gets out around her sobs.

He attempts to smile at her to make her feel better, but it hurts to smile and it falls off his lips right away. ''Oh yeah.'' He shakes his head. Releases a breath. ''It's a scary place we're in, little girl. But you and I... We have to remember something.'' He pulls her away from him carefully and lifts her chin to meet her wet eyes. ''There is no one else out there who is as strong as your mother, or as brave. Nobody fights as hard as she fights. Nobody loves the way she loves. And that's what's going to save her. There's no way she would ever leave us here all alone.''

Bray licks her lips. She searches his eyes desperately. ''And what about my baby brother?''

He is silent for a long time, trying to convince himself that the pang in his chest is not a heart attack. Finally, he smiles half heartedly and leans down to rest his forehead on hers. ''Your mother is doing everything she can to keep your brother with us and so are the doctors. That's all we can ask for right now.''

She sniffles and swipes the back of her hand across her cheeks. Her fingers pull at a loose thread on her blanket. She looks like she's trying so hard to believe in what he's saying, but the fear is still burning brightly in her eyes, like a fire that won't go out. ''Uncle Cas says we need to have faith,'' she says. ''He says that...it's times like these that faith is the most important. He says it's needed.''

Dean swallows hard. It's kind of funny, isn't it? Five years ago his faith was scarce and his hope was dwindling severely and now they're really all he's got to fall back on. ''Well,'' he starts slowly. ''I guess...yeah.'' He clears his throat and smiles softly. ''Faith is an important part of life. The faith in your family is... We all need that. Uncle Cas may be a little clueless about some things - ''

''Like movie references.''

''Like movie references,'' he laughs. ''But I think this is something he's right about. We have to have faith in her.''

She looks down at her hands and doesn't respond, mulling over his words thoughtfully with a serious look on her little flushed and tearstained face. It breaks his heart. She is six years old, barely. She shouldn't have to deal with this. She shouldn't have this much fear in her life. She should know that her mother will come home. ''I don't want her to die,'' she admits in a whisper.

''She won't.''

She crawls into his lap with a sniffle and wraps her arms around his neck. ''Promise me,'' she requests, voice muffled. ''Promise me she'll be okay.''

Logically, he knows that he cannot make that promise to her. It wouldn't be fair to either of them if something were to... If Ruby...

He makes the promise anyway.

''I promise,'' he says. ''I promise your mom isn't going anywhere.''

She nods against his chest, her small voice squeaky from tears and exhaustion. ''Daddy, can you stay with me until I fall asleep? I get lonely without her.''

He closes his eyes and kisses her hair. ''Of course I can, sugar.''

I get lonely without her, too, is what he doesn't say.

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The next day, at her spelling bee, Bray takes home the first place ribbon. Her dad is sitting front and center, giving her a wink of encouragement and recording it so that he can ''brag about his genius girl'' to Uncle Sammy later on.

Her mother is sitting right next to him.

Bray decides, as she accepts the ribbon, that when he gets here, she is going to give her little brother her first place ribbon.

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Twenty years later, Connor Winchester still carries around that little blue ribbon in his wallet.

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/iii/

from love's first fever to her plague

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Dean has trained his body to wake up at the mere creak of a floorboard. When there is any sort of noise in his house late at night, his body reacts. His eyes snap open and he tenses. Sometimes he bolts upright and wakes Ruby. She thinks it is majorly creepy and has told him on more than one occasion that she thinks he is becoming much too paranoid in his old age. You need to get a grip, she has said. Because your paranoia is getting irritating and disturbing.

In his defense, he has a teenage daughter and that's really the only explanation he needs.

And oh, god, he has a teenage daughter.

He really hates that.

It is not paranoia in his eyes. He thinks that this newfound skill is something that will be highly utilized in the next four years. Bray turned fifteen exactly three weeks and two days ago and he has already caught her trying to sneak out twice. And it doesn't matter that one of those times was because she was trying to sneak out to the all night Wal-Mart to buy last minute Christmas presents, it still counts. He thinks the next four years are going to suck major ass.

These are the reasons why, when he wakes up in the middle of the night to the creak of a floorboard and other assorted sounds, he assumes the worst. He has a really bad feeling in his gut. (The bad feeling in his gut will turn out to be right, but not for the reasons he thinks.) He slips out of bed quietly and does not wake Ruby. If he is correct in his pessimistic assumptions, he'll do the 'I told you so' over coffee the next morning, but it's dangerous to wake her up. She's kind of like a sleeping bear. Adorable from way far away but she will rip you open if you get close enough.

He still does not think he's paranoid. Frequently waking up in the middle of the night at any given sound may seem like overkill, but he thinks it's perfectly logical. Bray has made it crystal clear that she is frighteningly similar to her dear ole' dad and when he was her age...

Look, it's not paranoia, all right? It's the fear that history will repeat itself.

She's fifteen, Ruby keeps saying. But she's not you. Stop thinking she is.

But you can never be too careful.

Casting one last glance over his shoulder at Ruby, Dean opens the bedroom door and makes his way into the hallway. Almost as soon as he's out in the dark hall in the otherwise silent house, he realizes that he is wrong. The creak of the floorboard, the hurried footsteps... Apparently not so much signs that Bray was sneaking out to go to a sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll party. There is retching coming from the bathroom.

It's amazing how quickly one can go from 'if she is trying to sneak out that window again, I am going to lock her in a room, tie her to a chair and put bars on her window' to 'my kid's sick; she must need me.'

The bathroom door is ajar, light streaming into the dark hallway, and he doesn't even waste time with that unnecessary knocking shit, pushing open the door and into the brightly lit bathroom. Down on her knees, one shaky hand trying to hold her hair back, Bray is heaving into the toilet, her entire body wracked with retches.

When she was a little girl, he would panic when she would throw up. What if it was serious? How far away was the nearest hospital? What if it was appendicitis? An ulcer? Food poisoning? Do you even know how poor little Heather O'Rourke died? That fuckery was his worst nightmare. He is proud to say that these days, despite the terror over underage drinking and sex, he is fairly calm when it comes to the matter of vomit. Please. He has two kids and one of them (read: Connor) had a major projectile vomiting issue as a toddler. (Seriously, they thought he was possessed for awhile there.) He has been puked on more times than he can count.

The lingering grogginess disappears when he sees her and he sighs, rushing to her side. She startles briefly when he puts his hand on her back and gathers the hair out of her face, but then her body rebels against her once again and she's coughing and spitting into the toilet bowl again. ''Dad,'' she croaks out helplessly when there's a break in her retching.

''Sshh,'' he whispers, rubbing her back with the hand that isn't holding her hair back. ''You're okay. I've got you.''

There is another reason why he has had to learn how to be totally and completely Zen when faced with these sorts of situations.

Because Bray is anything but.

His girl is a worrier. Big time. She worries endlessly about herself and everyone around her. Every ache she feels means the world is ending and she has diagnosed herself with about a hundred and three serious illnesses. It's gotten even worse since she hit puberty. Sometimes there are days when she goes through life like she's walking on eggshells. If she senses any amount of panic from her parents during times of need, she will take that panic, run with it, and it will all inevitably end in a massive panic attack. Which is why Dean and Ruby are now cool and calm cucumbers. For the most part.

''I'm sorry I woke you up,'' she sobs, before the gagging starts again.

''Don't worry about that, sugar.'' He reaches over to flush the toilet and then pulls open a drawer, searching around for a hair tie. She finally stops just as he's managed to get her hair up and her trembling hand flushes the toilet again. She is crying as she slumps back against the bathtub, clutching her stomach. He tries to meet her eyes, but she won't look at him. ''You done?''

She nods jerkily. ''I think so.''

''Why didn't you tell me you were feeling sick?'' He asks quietly. ''I would've stayed up with you.'' He stands, grabbing a wash cloth and holding it under warm water.

She shakes her head. ''Something's wrong,'' she panics. ''What if it's my kidneys? Or my liver?''

''Lila Bray - ''

''Or what if - what if it's my appendix? Or what if I have gastritis? You can die from that.''

''Lila Bray - ''

''I can't have gastritis! I have a date on Saturday! I can't die before I have my first date!''

You can't argue with that logic.

''Bray.'' He crouches in front of her and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. She's definitely running a fever. Guess she didn't escape that stomach bug after all. ''You knew the stomach flu was going around your school,'' he reminds her gently. ''You probably caught it from Maisie. Didn't she have it last week?''

''Yeah, but - ''

''Sshh..'' He wipes the corners of her mouth with the warm wet cloth. ''Listen to me,'' he advises. ''Stressing yourself isn't going to help. It's only going to make it worse.''

''I know that,'' she snaps. ''Don't you think I know that?''

''Lila Bray, breathe,'' he orders. ''Close your eyes, try to relax your body, and breathe.'' She does as she's told, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply. ''Anxiety can make things worse, honey. Especially stomachaches. Your body stiffens and your muscles contract. Does it feel a little better?''

She waits for a second, eyes shut, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, and then she opens her eyes and says, ''No. It feels worse.''

And then she proceeds to have a panic attack, which he really should have seen coming.

.

.

.

Bray sits on the couch, clutching a class of water in one hand and a trashcan in the other, while her dad rummages around the house in search of that elusive Pepto Bismol. She has managed to calm down somewhat but the stomach cramps are only getting worse. She is actually crying from the pain.

That is a worry.

Barring the panic attacks, she is quite a stoic girl. The panic attacks are a manifestation of everything she keeps inside. She bottles it all up, so the thoughts and fears have no choice but to explode out of her violently. Or at least that's Sarah's opinion, amateur psychiatrist that she is. It's not an entirely batshit idea, to be honest. Bray worries constantly, but when it comes down to actual real and physical pain, she prefers to keep it to herself. She knows how worry feels and she doesn't like to inflict other people with that same unbearable feeling.

So, yes, the fact that she has been reduced to tears and she isn't even trying to hide it is a cause for concern.

When Dean finally re-enters the living room with the Pepto Bismol, she is hovering over the trashcan like she's waiting to throw up, skin as white as a sheet. He sighs as he takes a seat next to her, running his hand up and down her back. He smoothes errant strands of hair out of her sweaty face and leans in to kiss her forehead. ''I think your fever's rising,'' he comments. He wraps an arm around her when she falls against him. ''My poor girl...''

''Dad, it really hurts.'' Her voice wavers when she speaks. She sounds so scared. ''I'm not blowing this out of proportion,'' she says passionately. ''It hurts so bad.''

He takes a deep breath. ''All right. Lie down for me.'' He keeps his voice casual and steady, pulling her away from him gently. He puts the Pepto Bismol down on the coffee table. He doesn't think it's going to help with this. ''Where is the pain, sugar?'' As tenderly as he possibly can, he reaches out and presses on her right side, between her right hip bone and her belly button. ''Is it here?''

She yelps the second he touches her and writhes in pain.

Well, shit.

.

.

.

The light in the bedroom comes on, filling the room with absurdly bright light. In the bed, Ruby jerks awake, slurring out an, ''Oh my god'' as she throws a hand over her face.

''Ruby,'' Dean says urgently.

''I fucking hate you,'' she declares in a snarl, ''and I want a divorce.''

''Okay,'' he nods distractedly. ''I have to take Lila Bray to the hospital.''

There is a brief, brief moment of tense silence and then she bolts upright, gaping at him. ''What?''

''I'm pretty sure it's her appendix.''

''Oh my god.'' She throws back the covers and all but leaps to her feet, making a mad dash for the door. ''Where is she? Two seconds. I can be ready in - ''

''Ruby.'' He drops his hands to her shoulders. ''Connor.''

''Oh...'' She swallows, glancing over her shoulder. ''Shit.''

''Look.'' Hastily dressed, about eighty percent sure he's got his shoes on the wrong feet, he whirls around, frantically searching for his keys. ''You can meet us there, okay? But I can't wait. I have to get her to the hospital now - and where the fuck are my fucking car keys?'' He raises a hand to run through his hair and has to do a double take when he sees his keys clenched tightly in his fist. ''Right.'' He closes the small space between them and pecks her lips softly. ''I'll call you as soon as we get there. I promise. She'll be fine.''

.

.

.

It shouldn't be taking this long. How long does it take to run a few tests anyway? This is fucking ridiculous. They have been in this fucking hospital for far too fucking long without any progress being made. His daughter is completely strung out on morphine right now and yet she is still lucid enough to cling to her fears. It's heartbreaking. She just keeps repeating over and over again, ''I don't want to die.'' It hurts like a bitch to not be able to do anything but sit and listen to your fifteen year old daughter moan repeatedly that she doesn't want to die.

The nurses keep telling her to relax. Her doctor keeps telling her that she needs to calm down. Dean wants to smack every one of them. How hard is it to realize that she can't calm down right now? She physically cannot calm down and telling her to relax, to just calm down, to breathe, is not going to help her right now. You would think that they would be a little more sensitive to that, but no. The Winchesters, as it would seem, have incredibly bad luck when it comes to medical health professionals and sympathy. They've lucked out a few times but mostly it's baboons with bad bedside manner all the way. You would think that nurses and doctors, of all people, would have a little insight to human emotions.

Nope.

Maisie Franklin's mother is an extremely kind emergency room doctor. Alex Crowell's father - while weak when it comes to the matter of his psycho wife - is a mostly kind paramedic. What do the Winchester family get? They get stuck with the Dr. Sexy MD rejects.

Seriously, fuck this shit.

''Mr. Winchester,'' a pretty young nurse who frowns way too much tells him crisply. ''You need to tell your daughter to calm down.''

He stares at her, unimpressed. ''If someone came into your emergency room with a bleeding finger, would you tell the finger to stop bleeding and expect it to listen? Or how about water? When you tell it to stop being so wet, does it listen? You must teach me your secret.''

She looks pissed. ''I think you're being a little unreasonable.''

He shrugs and laughs at her, eyes crinkling as he offers her a big smile. ''Yeah? Well, honey, I think the only place you're qualified to practice medicine is at General Hospital,'' he tells her sweetly. ''We both have our opinions.''

After dropping Connor off with Sam and Sarah, Ruby shows up pretty quickly, disheveled and worried as she takes her spot next to her daughter. Sam rushes to the hospital in the middle of the night and then rushes back out, coming back with Bray's old seen-better-days zebra. Cas, half asleep, staggers into the hospital to be with her, but when he begins to ramble off statistics that do nothing to calm Bray down, he is sent home. Bray - no matter what her family does to make her more comfortable - remains terrified. Some of the physical pain has been taken away by the morphine, but the terror and anxiety are still center stage. Even her precious Bart can't quell her fears.

She has convinced herself that this is the end of the road for her and she doesn't want to go. She tries to be brave and accepting of her fate, spouting off a list of what to do if she dies, but that only serves to aggravate her fear and she winds up melting down. When Ruby leaves the room to go yell at the doctor and Sam excuses himself to check on Sarah and call Bobby with an update, Dean is left alone with his poor, scared baby girl.

''Daddy,'' she croaks out, tears slowly slipping down her pale cheeks. ''I'm scared.''

He leans in closer to her, squeezing her hand. ''I know.''

''What if something goes wrong?''

''You can't think like that,'' is all he can come up with.

''But I can't help it.''

He releases a breath. ''I know, darlin'.''

''I don't want to die,'' she repeats.

He brushes away her fallen tears with his thumb. Instead of taking the obvious route and assuring her that she is not going to die, he decides to try something different. He meets her tear filled gaze and says, quite simply, ''Good.'' He offers her a tired smile, and she looks a little taken aback. ''I hope you never want to die,'' he continues. ''It's an awful feeling. So, you know what?'' He glances over his shoulder and then drags his chair closer to the hospital bed. ''Hang onto that feeling. Listen to those voices that say you don't want to die. Listen to them when they tell you to fight. You can't do much else. You can't control the outcome of a lot of things, Lila Bray, but that doesn't mean you get to stop fighting. Never ever stop wanting to live. If you don't want to die...then don't.''

She actually looks a little comforted by that. She lies still in her hospital bed, staring at the ceiling and holding his hand. She licks her cracked lips. Her eyes are still frightened and misty, but her incessant and incoherent babbling has stopped. He thinks that's at least something. ''What if... Dad, what if I go through those doors and I don't come back?''

He leans back against his chair. ''You'll come back,'' he says lazily. ''I promise you, you will come back.''

She shakes her head sadly. ''You can't promise that.''

He sets his jaw stubbornly. ''Yes, I can.''

.

.

.

It is five in the morning by the time she is finally wheeled away from her parents and her uncle and through those intimidating hospital doors to have her appendix removed.

She comes back.

.

.

.

She wakes up in the recovery room, groggy and uncomfortable. The lights are too bright, her mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, and this is pretty much what she imagines a hangover feels like, but she came back. The first thing she hears after rejoining the land of the living, when everything is still fuzzy and she is still massively out of it, is a low, throaty, up-all-night gravelly voice greeting her with a warm, ''Hey, sugar. Welcome back.''

He even sounds like he's smiling.

.

.

.

/iv/

she belongs to fairytales

.

.

.

It's not so much that he is dreading tomorrow. Dread is a strong word. He's just perhaps a little nervous. Not that anyone needs to know that. It finally hit him tonight at the big dinner. During the festivities, sometime while Bray was off laughing with Alex and Connor, while she was practically glowing with excitement and happiness, it hit Dean like a slap in the face. Tomorrow afternoon at three thirty, he is going to have to give her away.

Huh.

You know what else has hit him? Just how much he hates that term. Give her away. Fuck that. She's not a cupcake. She's his daughter. She could go all the way to Siberia and never speak to him again and he would still never give her away. That's jacked logic.

In the dark of his bedroom, Dean scowls at the ceiling.

He still thinks she's too young for this crap.

With a quiet sigh, he turns to look at his sleeping wife, rolling onto his side to study her peaceful features. Age has treated Ruby well. People say it has been unbelievably kind to him as well, but he doesn't see it. Sure, okay, so maybe there are some fifty two year olds out there who look much worse than he does but Ruby does not look forty seven. The years have barely touched her. He looks past his sleeping wife to the picture on her bedside table, taken during the holidays. In the picture, the happy family is smushed together in front of the Christmas tree, smiling happily for the camera. It's a recent picture, taken not even two months ago.

He swivels his gaze around to the picture on his own nightstand. It is not what you'd call recent.

In his picture, Bray is six years old and she is holding her tiny baby brother for the first time, her eyes alight with awe and hope. In his head, she is still six years old. In reality, his little girl is twenty two, his little boy has just turned sixteen, and the world around him won't slow down. Not even for a second.

His little sugar is getting married tomorrow.

In his head, she is always going to be six years old.

When these little depressing moments creep up on him, usually late at night when everything's quiet and there is too much time to think, there is one thing he has to remind himself of: It could be worse. It could be so much worse.

He could be Sam.

Sam - at only forty eight - is going to be a grandfather in four short months. All because Nick, seventeen, clueless and horny, couldn't figure out how to unwrap a condom, so he ''took his chances.'' As sorry as he is for Sam and Sarah, who now have to support not only their five kids but also their son's girlfriend and their grandchild, Dean is mighty relieved that didn't happen to his Bray.

Since he doesn't foresee sleep coming to him anytime soon, Dean gives up on it all together and slowly gets out of bed. He tries to be absolutely silent as he drifts towards the door and out into the hallway. There is an entire household of people he can't afford to wake. Ruby will kill him if she doesn't get her beauty sleep before the big day, Connor is sleeping off his first ever beer (as it turns out, the boy does not have a high tolerance for alcohol), and Bray, Maisie, and Carrie are sleeping over in Bray's old room in keeping with the old 'the groom cannot see the bride before the wedding' superstition that Dean and Ruby tried out the night before their wedding, but then completely obliterated it and made Connor instead (which was completely ironic, considering they had been trying so hard for a baby and the one time they weren't outright trying was the time he wound up knocking her up).

He is not exactly sure what he's doing right now. He knows he should be getting some sleep in preparation for tomorrow, but sleep is not his friend tonight and the leftovers from the rehearsal dinner are calling to him. As he's making his way to the staircase, he passes by Bray's room and instantly freezes, stopping in his tracks, heart thudding against his ribcage.

In her old childhood bedroom, the walls still painted lilac, glow in the dark stars still glued to the ceiling, stuffed animal collection still on display in various places throughout the room, Bray is standing in front of her full length mirror.

In her wedding dress.

Dean stands frozen in the doorway, slack jawed and wide-eyed, stunned by her beauty. She looks like an angel. And not the grumpy ones who make life miserable; she looks like one of those stereotypical tree topper angels.

She doesn't see him right away, staring at her reflection in the mirror, looking anxious. Her hair is in loose waves, cascading down her bare shoulders and her dress flows around her. Her dress is a loose and flowing one shouldered summery dress with no beading and no crystals; pretty much the exact opposite of what one would expect a winter wedding dress to look like, but she fell in love with it the minute she saw it. But Dean doesn't give a shit about the dress. It's the girl in it that has taken his breath away. She bunches up the dress in her fists and bites her lip and then lets go, smoothing out her dress. ''I'm getting married tomorrow,'' she tells her reflection. She smiles, nervous but genuine.

His lips quirk into a small smile as he leans against the doorframe and watches her.

She stares down at her engagement ring and then back up at her reflection.

He casts a glance over at Maisie and Carrie, both passed out in the bed. Quietly, he clears his throat and watches his daughter startle. ''Hi, beautiful.''

She whirls around in surprise and a slow, relieved smile stretches across her lips. ''Oh. Hi, Daddy.'' She looks down at her dress and peers up at him shyly, through her eyelashes. ''So,'' she does a little twirl for him. ''What do you think?''

''I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world,'' he says honestly. ''...But I've always thought that.''

She blushes. ''Thank you. Do you think Alex will like it?''

''If he doesn't, he's insane.''

Over in the bed, Carrie makes a quiet noise and stirs.

Dean crooks a finger at Bray and she glides across the floor, stepping out into the hallway and shutting her bedroom door behind her. ''You can't sleep either?'' He asks, brushing hair out of her face.

She shakes her head. ''Too nervous.''

''Nervous? Why? You were calm when you went to bed.''

She bites her lip, looking hesitant. ''Well, not...nervous, exactly. I mean, I want to marry Alex.'' She moves away from him, walking down the hall with her dress swishing around her. She takes a seat on the top of the staircase, looking thoughtful, and he takes a seat next to her. ''Alex and I have been together since we were fifteen. And I want to be with him forever. It's not like this is a quickie marriage or anything. It's just...'' She shrugs her shoulders helplessly and looks at him pleadingly. ''I don't know. I'm only twenty two. What if I still have wild oats to sew?''

He resists the urge to sigh. Well, isn't this a moral dilemma? If he plays his cards right, he could probably talk her into postponing the wedding until she's a little older. Fifty's a nice age to get married, isn't it? ''Lila Bray,'' he says at last. ''You have never been much of a wild oats kind of girl.'' He nudges her shoulder with his own. ''Half the people out there who are sewing their wild oats are doing it because they're looking for something. You've already found it. You're lucky, you know.''

She seems to take that into consideration, the delicate fabric of her wedding dress slipping through her fingers. ''What if I don't make a good wife?''

He snorts. ''Don't be stupid. You'll be a great wife.''

She arches an eyebrow. ''You think?''

He grins at her with a small chuckle. What a ridiculous question. Of course she'll be a good wife. She'll be the best. She'll love him, support him, she'll kick his ass if she needs kicking, and she won't let him treat her like shit. She's a lot like her mother. ''Yeah. I think you'll be a wonderful wife.''

She smiles dimly. ''What if I'm not ready?''

He looks at her sharply, pinching his lips together. ''You can't let the what ifs get to you.''

''Dad, please,'' she begs. She reaches over to grasp his hands tightly, locking eyes with him and refusing to let him look away from her. ''Just tell me your honest opinion. Do you think I'm ready for this?''

He stares at her flatly. ''Do not fucking ask me to decide your future, little girl,'' he warns lowly. ''That's not fair. You're twenty two years old. As much as it pains me to admit this, you're old enough to know what you want and you're old enough to know whether or not you're ready for it. I can't tell you what to do here.''

She sighs wistfully and tosses him a wry smile. ''Well, it was worth a shot.'' She stares out at nothing in particular and then looks down at her ring. She twirls it casually and then smiles. After a long, long moment of silence, she speaks up. ''I'm getting married tomorrow,'' she says definitively.

''Yep. I figured.''

''I am ready,'' she says quietly.

He's still not sure whether or not he agrees with her.

''I just hope I can dance in this dress,'' she remarks lightly.

He side eyes her. Eventually, he drags himself to his feet, steps up onto the landing, and offers her his hand. She looks up at him and her whole face lights up. She accepts his hand with a huge smile and the second she's on her feet, he catches her off guard by yanking her towards him and twirling her. A laugh tumbles through her lips. She is not his little girl anymore. She can't dance on his feet. And he'd give anything to have time freeze, just for a goddamn second. But she has never looked as happy as she does right now, in her wedding dress with Alex's ring on her finger.

Despite his trepidation over that giving her away shit, he's not going to let anything ruin tomorrow for her.

''I think you'll do fine,'' he says, and he's talking about so much more than a dance. He hopes she gets that.

''So,'' she starts. ''Tomorrow.''

''Tomorrow,'' he echoes.

''You're walking me down the aisle and you're giving me away,'' she reminds him.

''I'm walking you down the aisle,'' he corrects. ''I am not giving you away.''

''Okay. Just don't let me trip,'' she demands. ''Don't let me trip, don't let me make a fool of myself, don't step on my dress, and do not let me fall.''

''Never,'' he promises.

He twirls her one last time and when he brings her back to him she takes a step closer to him and wraps her arms around him. ''Thank you for the dance, Dad,'' she whispers in his ear. ''And, you know, pretty much everything else.''

He hugs her back tightly and strongly considers not letting her go. But then she pulls away and he doesn't stop her. He clears his throat and offers her a lopsided smile. ''You need to get some sleep,'' he advises her. ''You're getting married tomorrow.''

''That's right,'' she clasps her hands and smiles from ear to ear. He swears he can almost hear her heartbeat speeding up. ''I am.''

He drops a kiss to the side of her head before he leaves her. ''Goodnight, love. I'll see you in the morning.''

''I'll be the one breathing into a paper bag.''

He winks at her. ''I'm looking forward to it.''

.

.

.

''Your heart is the only place I call home.'' The music plays, echoing through the room as the new Mr. and Mrs. Crowell share their first dance as husband and wife. ''I cannot be returned...'' Personally, Dean would have gone with something a little more Zeppelin-ish (well, technically, he and Ruby danced to Dream a Little Dream of Me but Led Zeppelin's Thank You was a close second and that still counts) but he supposes this is better than Coldplay (Sam and Sarah) because that was just wrong. Coldplay is depressing.

He keeps his eyes on his daughter as the happy couple continues to look at each other with hearts in their eyes, both looking nauseatingly happy and in love. She's all grown up now. No going back to that six year old.

A soft hand touches his shoulder and he feels her hair tickle his neck as she leans in close to him. ''Was it as bad as you thought it would be?'' Ruby whispers. ''Giving her away?''

No, actually. It felt worse. ''It felt like somebody ripped my heart right out and ran it through a juicer,'' he deadpans.

She rubs his arm comfortingly and leans her chin on his shoulder. ''But wasn't it worth it just to see that look on her face?''

Dean looks out at Bray. The pure bliss on her face is crystal clear; it seems to cut through the melancholia and permeate everything. ''Yes.''

''Just keep following the heartlines on your hand. Keep it up, I know you can...''

.

.

.

/v/

my hero bares his nerves

along my wrist

.

.

.

''Tell me you did not just say what I think you just said.''

Connor squirms under his father's piercing gaze, shuffling from foot to foot as he looks around the hospital waiting room for some much needed assistance. ''Well, it's not like it's my fault...''

Dean continues to stare. ''Alex is missing?''

''Not so much missing per se,'' Connor tries. ''It's just...you know...nobody can find him or reach him on his cell phone and we don't know where he is.''

''Connor, your sister is about to give birth! Are you seriously telling me that her husband is - ''

''Nick!'' Looking immensely relieved, Connor pushes past his fuming father and wraps an arm around his half asleep cousin. ''Buddy! I am so glad you're here! How's your life?'' He looks down at the sleepy little girl in Nick's arms. ''And hello to you too, Miss Hopie. How are you this fine even - ''

''Hope had just gotten to sleep,'' Nick moans.

Dean turns on the boy. ''Yeah? Well, my daughter's in labor, and her idiot husband has apparently pulled a fucking Houdini.''

''How is that my problem?''

''I swear… That boy is on my shit list.''

Connor rolls his eyes. ''Dad, he's been on your shit list ever since you found out he took her virginity on the eve of her seventeenth birthday. This is not news.''

Dean scoffs and waves a hand in frustration, turning away from the boys. ''Carrie,'' he barks. ''Any news?''

The teen pulls her cell phone away from her ear with a regretful frown. ''Dad and Grandpa just checked the house. No sign of Alex. Uncle Cas is going to check Alex's work. See if he's there.'' She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. ''FYI, if that asshole is pulling a runner I'm going to cut his balls off.''

Dean nods approvingly. ''Noted.''

''I'm going to call home and check on Mom,'' Carrie adds. ''She said she was going to make a few calls. Maybe she's heard something.''

''Wait,'' Nick holds up a hand. ''Mom's at home? You mean I could have dropped my daughter off at her grandparents' house instead of dragging her to a hospital at midnight?'' He glares at Connor. ''Thanks for telling me that over the phone, dude.''

''Nick,'' Connor begins thoughtfully. ''Do you remember when I bought that laugh track off the internet and you asked me why I would ever need a laugh track?''

''...Yeah.''

''This is why! We are in a sitcom situation here.''

''This is not funny, Connor,'' Dean bites out.

''Dean!''

He whips around, barely managing to catch his wife as she comes barreling into the Winchester family pow wow, flushed and breathless. ''What's going on? Is she okay?'' He reaches out to steady her. ''How's the baby?''

''Five centimeters. Contractions are getting closer together. She's fine. The baby's fine,'' Ruby gets out in a rush. ''Now, where the hell is my son-in-law?''

Cue long awkward silence.

''A question for the masses,'' Connor pipes up needlessly.

Ruby sighs and rubs at her temples.

''He's not answering his phone,'' Connor explains quietly.

''That's because he doesn't have it,'' Ruby says. ''There's something wrong with Bray's phone so he gave her his.''

''Chivalrous bastard,'' Dean growls.

''Nick!'' Ruby's voice is short and demanding and instantly, the boy snaps to attention, posture straightening. ''You were in the delivery room when Hope was born, right?''

''Um, yeah. Why?''

''Did you faint?''

''No.''

''Puke?''

''No.''

''Was there any lightheadedness at all?''

''Not really, no.''

''Get in there and keep your cousin company.''

Nick sighs, but seems to accept his fate, carefully handing his daughter over to Connor.

''This is unacceptable,'' Dean grumbles, once Nick has hurried away. ''That moron put that thing in her and he's gonna be here to see it come out.''

Noticeably pale, Connor shudders. ''Ugh.''

Dean drops his gaze to the ground, grinding out a few curses and expletives.

When he looks back up, Maisie Franklin is standing in front of him. ''Hi!'' She chirps out cheerfully, waving a hand.

He stumbles back a step and puts a hand over his heart. ''Jesus.''

''How's Bray?''

''Fine,'' Ruby cuts in. ''She's doing great.''

''Franklin,'' Dean monotones. ''Do you ever step back, take a look at your life and say, holy shit, I'm Kimmy Gibbler?''

Maisie frowns and tilts her head to the side, hopelessly lost. ''Who?''

''Way, way before her time, Dean,'' Ruby yawns, patting his arm.

He grunts. ''Fuck, I'm old.''

''No arguments here, Grandpa,'' Maisie smiles.

''Hey, did anyone think to call Alex's sister?'' Connor asks, absently bouncing little Hope on his knee.

''Aubrey?'' Dean rubs at his forehead. ''She lives in Texas. I don't think she'd be a big help.''

''Yeah, but if Alex did run like a little bitch, maybe he ran to her. They're relatively close, aren't they?''

''Whoa, wait, Alex is missing?'' Maisie turns wide eyes to Ruby. ''Seriously?''

''Or what about his fath - ''

''Um, guys - '' Carrie butts into the conversation, placing herself in between Dean and Ruby, staring down at her phone, face white as a sheet. ''I just got off the phone with Aunt Jody...'' She looks up at them, terror bright in her eyes. ''She says she just got a call from one of her cop buddies. There was an accident about a block away from Alex's work. A truck hit a motorcycle.''

A long and painful moment stretches through the family and then Connor says weakly, with a shaky smirk, ''See, this is the part where the studio audience would go ooohhh.''

''Was Alex on his bike tonight?'' Ruby flicks her gaze to Dean. Nobody answers her. This does not help her panic. ''FOR GOD'S SAKE, CAN SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME IF HE WAS ON THAT DEATH TRAP TONIGHT?''

Hope, startled, lets out a cry.

''Okay.'' Dean brushes past Carrie to get to his wife, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders, trying to quell her hysteria before she totally loses it. ''Ruby. Ruby, sweetheart, breathe. It's probably not him. Why would he... We don't even know if he took the bike. I mean, it's not like it's a family vehicle. Why would he even - ''

''It's not like he knew she was going to go into labor when he left,'' she snaps. ''And he always takes that stupid bike to work, so he can leave the truck for Bray because she doesn't like driving the Impala while she's pregnant. She can't adjust the seat or...'' She runs a hand through her hair. ''Oh my god. Oh. My. God. Our daughter's going to be a widow and a single mother.'' She looks pained, trying in vain to calm herself down. Her panic lasts about a minute and then her eyes glaze over with that familiar determination and she turns to her son. ''Connor, go down to the emergency room and see if he's there. Carrie, keep the line open for Jody to call back. Maisie, you're on Hope duty. Dean,'' she grasps at his sleeve and pulls him away from the group. ''I think we need to start thinking about contacting Adam.''

He lets out a short bark of laughter and crosses his arms. Oh, fuck no. Once upon a time, Adam may have been a mere blip on the radar but ever since Robyn died, he has spiraled from weak trophy husband to mean drunken jackass. Guy didn't even show up for his own son's wedding. ''No. Absolutely not. The man is a drunk - and a mean one at that. He's not getting anywhere near this hospital tonight.''

''Dean - ''

''Ruby, six months ago the fucker nearly put Alex in the hospital.''

''I know that.'' She stomps her foot for emphasis and puts her hands on her hips. ''Look, the guy's a dick, all right? We're in agreement there. But he's Alex's next of kin. If Bray's not picking up her phone, they would call - ''

''Me,'' he interrupts. ''They would call me. I'm his emergency contact.''

She stills, blinking in surprise. ''What? Since when?''

''Since six months ago when Adam kicked the crap of out him. He said he trusted me. He wanted to make sure that if anything ever happened to him, I would be the one to break the news to Lila Bray instead of some insensitive, overworked night nurse.''

''Well,'' she whacks him on the shoulder. ''Thanks for letting me know, short bus!''

''He's fine, babe,'' Dean assures her, looping an arm around her waist. ''He's just an idiot who needs to remember that having a phone on you at all times is of dire importance when your wife is nine months pregnant.''

''She had three weeks left,'' she sighs, burying her head in her hands and leaning into his shoulder. ''This wasn't supposed to happen tonight. I feel so bad for her.''

''Just tell her to take the drugs,'' Maisie speaks up helpfully.

''Hey, guys?'' All attention goes to Nick, who has silently made his way back to the group, still looking dead on his feet. Kind of like he's been run over by a bus. (Ah, the joys of single fatherhood...) ''Sorry to interrupt, but she's asking for you, Dean.''

''Me?'' Dean falters. ''Why me?''

Everybody stares at him.

''Oh, gee,'' Maisie rolls her eyes. ''That's a toughie.'' She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. ''God, it's like you're senile.''

.

.

.

This is probably not a situation that a lot of fathers find themselves in. For some dads, this may be the epitome of awkward. Dean has never been, and will never be, like other fathers. He doesn't have the time to feel awkward. His main focus is keeping his daughter calm and tracking down his MIA son-in-law. When he pokes his head into the hospital room with the dim lighting and he spots his daughter in the hospital bed, with her eyes squeezed shut and her hair plastered to her sweaty face, most of his frustration melts away. He will not let her see any of the frustration or anxiety. He has to be completely calm for her.

Because Bray is still not a Zen person.

The door makes a soft clicking noise when he shuts it. Her eyes fly open and she shifts in the bed, relief swimming in her eyes when she sees her dad standing in the doorway. ''Hey,'' he greets calmly, with a smile just for her. ''There's my girl.''

And then she promptly bursts into tears.

''Daddy,'' she chokes out as he rushes to her side. ''Daddy, I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to be here right now - ''

''Where else would I be?''

''But I need...I need you to tell me the truth. Please, you're the only one who will.'' She stares up at him with her big doe eyes, lips trembling, hands holding his tightly. ''Where is Alex?''

His heart leaps into his throat. ''He's...'' He wavers and tries his hardest to come up with a believable excuse. ''He's on his way.''

A myriad of emotions cross her face. Relief, hope, disbelief, suspicion, and fear being the most prominent ones. ''He is? Are you sure?''

''Course I'm sure.''

''But what does that mean exactly?''

''It means he's on his way. There aren't a lot of other meanings.''

She purses her lips but nods slowly, sucking in a gulp of air. She takes in a few deep breaths to calm herself down and then she lets go of his hand. Still looking a tad anxious, she throws back the flimsy hospital blanket and attempts to stand. ''Can you help me up? I'm really not comfortable and the doctor said I should try walking around.''

He carefully helps her out of the bed and onto her feet. She's a little unsteady on her feet and her legs are quaking like they're made of jello, but she looks incredibly determined to pace the room with anxiety written all over her face and he's sure as hell not going to stand in her way. ''How far apart are the contractions?'' He asks, watching as she rubs at her lower back with a grimace.

''Um,'' she clears her throat and slowly takes the hair tie off her wrist, putting her stringy hair up into a ponytail. ''About five minutes. Dr. Chase says I'm progressing remarkably fast for a first time mom. Hey, you wanna know what I've learned?'' She sends him an unhappy pout. ''Childbirth is fucking hard. And it sucks.''

Dean can't help himself. ''Well, what the fuck made you think it was going to be easy?'' He questions gruffly.

She does not appear to be a fan of his less than comforting words. ''You know, Dad... You're going to have to stop being mad at me for getting pregnant sooner or later. I'm twenty four - almost twenty five - years old, I'm married, I'm financially secure - '' She breaks off in a sudden sharp intake of breath and has to turn around to brace herself against the bed. ''...And I'm going to fucking castrate my husband,'' she grunts out. ''Shit!'' She lets out something in between a whimper and a moan and her hands curl around the bed sheets, swaying her hips from side to side in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Dean forgets all about trying to work out what the hell she meant by that and starts to rub her back in slow, firm circles. He can't be sure if it's helping her at all, but he just knows that when Ruby was in labor with Bray, she had a lot of pain in her back and this helped. ''Don't hold your breath, honey,'' he whispers. ''Breathe with me.'' He has to push back a chuckle at the irony of it all. He remembers saying the exact same thing to Ruby all those years ago. It seems they've come full circle.

She does as she's told until the contraction passes, breathing raggedly but steadily. Slowly, she stands straight, licking her lips. ''How long was Mom in labor with me?''

He hesitates. ''...Twenty six hours. Give or take.''

''TWENTY SIX HOURS? Oh, god,'' she cries. ''I can't take twenty six hours of this shit. Did she have the back pain too?''

''Mmmhmm. You came out face up.''

''Well, little no name isn't posterior,'' she snaps, ''so what the fuck is his problem? He can't come out my back!''

''Your mother had an epidural,'' he informs her plainly. ''It didn't do much,'' he adds on in a mumble. ''But she had one.''

Adamantly sticking to her birth plan, Bray shakes her head. ''No.'' She takes a deep breath. ''I decided to go for a natural birth and that's what I'm going to do.''

He holds his hands up. ''More power to you then, girl.'' He brings a hand down to massage her shoulder. ''And I'm not mad at you for getting pregnant,'' he says, lifting her chin.

''You're not?''

''Of course not.''

She frowns at him, sulking miserably. ''Really? Because sometimes it seems like you are. You haven't called me sugar once since I told you about the baby.''

The reassuring smile slips off his lips and guilt begins to gnaw at him, right behind his ribcage. Oh. She's got him there. ''Lila Bray.'' He sends a pleading look up at the ceiling. ''I'm not mad at you for starting a family,'' he repeats vehemently. ''I could never be mad at you for that. But one day - the day after you told me about the baby - I woke up and I realized... You aren't a little sugar anymore. You are a gorgeous, strong, smart, responsible woman and maybe it's time I start treating you like one.''

A shaky laugh slips through her lips and she stares up at him with her big, tearful eyes. ''You can be so stupid sometimes, Dad.''

He blinks. Can't say he had been expecting that. He probably should have. ''Excuse me?''

''It doesn't matter how old I get. If I'm six or sixty, it doesn't matter. I...I will always be your sugar. Always. Just like little whatshisname - who, by the way, is currently trying to rip his way out of me or at least that's what it feels like - will always be my little peanut.'' She sniffles loudly. ''Age ain't nothin' but a number. And I miss it... Being sugar. So, just...God, don't be so stupid and stubborn.''

Stunned is an understatement. Deeply and profoundly touched may be more on point. ''Well,'' he says, voice hoarse. ''Okay then. ...You're a little cranky, aren't you?''

''Shut up.''

He laughs. He means to say more; to tell her just how much he has missed calling her sugar, but another contraction plows into her before he can say any of that. This one is stronger, nearly knocking her off her feet and he has to react quickly, holding her up and letting her squeeze the crap out of his hand. ''Sugar,'' he says pointedly, as the pain is decreasing. ''That wasn't five minutes.''

She gives a slow shake of her head. ''No,'' her voice trembles. ''It wasn't.''

.

.

.

''Good news,'' Ruby breathes, just after she has pulled him out of Bray's room. ''Alex isn't dead. Bad news,'' she winces. ''We're pretty sure he's stuck behind the accident.''

Dean turns to look at the closed door of his daughter's hospital room.

Ruby is smiling nervously when he looks back at her. ''It's going to be a long ass night,'' she warns. ''Isn't it fun to be a parent?''

.

.

.

Bray has only been in labor for a total of six hours now. She went into labor at nine, spent the first two hours at home, debating with herself whether it was real labor or not, called her mom at eleven, then Alex, got to the hospital at midnight. It's almost three in the morning now. Alex still isn't here. It's just getting ridiculous now. She knows the truth now, she knows her husband is stuck in traffic, and she knows that if he doesn't get here soon, he will miss the birth of his son. And she is not happy about it. She is getting close - real close - to delivery and her husband is still a no show. She has sailed past the trying to be calm stage, she is beyond hysterical and her window of opportunity for drugs has closed, which is truly unfortunate because right now, all she wants is an epidural.

If traffic doesn't let up, Alex is going to miss it. If Alex misses it, Dean is going to punch him in the face.

That would suck.

But to be honest, Dean has stopped thinking about him. His one priority is his daughter. His main goal is to keep Bray from having a panic attack while in the throes of the transition stage. She's a mess, crying and sweating and squirming in pain, pleading and begging. Dean is largely unfazed by everything else. It's a sort of tunnel vision, really. All he can think about is keeping her at least somewhat calm. It's an impossible task, but it's all he can think about. It's reminiscent of the night she came down with appendicitis. She's babbling and crying in a hospital bed and he is just trying to comfort her. He can't say he minds all that much, to be perfectly honest. This is what he does best. Taking care of his kids. Sam, Bray, Connor... That's his job.

So, really, he's in his element right now. He knows exactly what he's doing. He's all calm and all focus. The actual woman in labor? Yeah, not so much with the calm. She's more partial to the blinding terror it would seem.

At around quarter after three, Dr. Chase is in the room, annoyingly cheerful as she checks Bray's progress and does not mention the lack of a certain daddy-to-be. Smart woman. Her smile is bright but forced when she lifts her eyes to Bray, pity hiding in her eyes. ''Congratulations, Mom,'' she says gently, patting Bray's leg. ''You're at ten. It's time to try pushing.''

There is a dreadful moment of silence in which Dean and Ruby look at each other from over the bed, both bracing themselves for the coming inevitable meltdown.

''Check again,'' Bray demands shortly. ''You have to be wrong. I'm not a ten. I think I feel like...like maybe an eight or something.''

Dr. Chase looks mildly surprised. Dean gets the feeling that not a lot of woman want to make labor last longer. ''Sorry. You're a ten, Bray.''

''Well, fuck you then!''

''Okay!'' Ruby grabs Bray's face in her hands, smiling sympathetically down at her daughter. ''Baby, that's not helping.''

''I don't care if it's not helping,'' Bray bites out, yanking her face away from her mother's hands. ''I'm not trying to help right now!''

''Like you didn't say worse things to the doctor when Bray was born,'' Dean can't help but pipe up. ''When Lila Bray was crowning, you threatened to bite your doctor's nose off if he didn't pull her out.'' He nods. ''That was uncalled for.''

An exhausted sob tumbles through Bray's lips and she collapses back into the bed. ''No,'' she gasps. ''This can't be happening. I need Alex. Daddy,'' she turns her head to shoot him a pleading look, hand still squeezing his. ''I need you to go get Alex.''

''Honey, he's coming,'' he tries to promise her. ''I can't do anything else. I'm sorry. I would if I could.''

But she is having none of that. Clearly fed up with her husband's absence, Bray suddenly decides it would be a good idea to take matters into her own hands. Despite the fact that her entire body is shaking and despite the fact that not even two minutes prior, she had been complaining of pressure and begging to push, she lurches in the bed in an attempt to drag herself to her feet. Instantly, there is a flurry of activity as everyone practically jumps on her, pushing her back into the bed and telling her that she can't get up. It either scares her or pisses her off, because she throws a fit and bursts into a long, somewhat incoherent tirade. ''No! No, I won't! I'm not...I won't do it without him.''

''Well, sweetie, I don't think you have a choice,'' Ruby says gently.

''Yes, I do,'' Bray insists stubbornly, sticking her nose up in the air. ''I just won't push.''

''...Bray, that's irrational.''

''ASK ME IF I CARE, MOM!''

Dr. Chase chuckles warmly. Bray looks like she wants to throttle her. ''Bray, I'm afraid your body is going to do what it wants.''

''I will cut you.''

''Hey,'' Dean leans in to cup his daughter's sweaty cheek in his hand, brushing some of the tears away. ''Hey, sugar. It's okay.''

''It's not okay,'' she blubbers.

''It is okay. It has to be okay. You're right, honey, you're right. Alex should be here and it's not fair that he's not, but there's nothing we can do about that now. But you need to push. You're having a baby, Lila Bray. Your son wants out, all right? Do you understand me? Your mother and I are right here, sugar. We're not going anywhere.''

''I... Okay.'' She nods, trying to catch her breath, hauling herself back up into a sitting position. ''You won't leave me?''

''Never.''

And then it's like a light bulb goes off in her head. Like she's just gotten her second wind or a massive burst of adrenaline. Her focus returns, and her Winchester determination shines through. It's obvious that she'd still much rather have her husband with her at this particular moment in time, but her parents' presence is just going to have to do. He doesn't know how she does it. How she can go from a hysterical mess to a Amazon-woman-force-to-be-reckoned-with.

(It's actually quite simple. She draws strength from her father. That's what she's always done. That's the way it goes.)

She's doing so great, channeling all of her energy into getting her baby out. His little girl is a lot like her mother. She's wonder woman.

Ten minutes into pushing, the sound of muffled shouting breaks through, followed by the sound of someone skidding on the shiny and squeaky hospital floor and then there is a crash. Then the door bangs open and Alex bursts through like a big damn hero. ''Lila,'' he breathes out. He looks like something that has been chewed up and spit out by a wood chipper, out of breath, hair sticking up in all directions, stupid fucking worn out leather jacket half on and half off. But when he lays eyes on his wife, it's like he can breathe again.

Dean would roll his eyes, but he gets it.

As soon as Alex is close enough, Bray grabs his jacket and yanks him down to her level, damn near choking him. ''YOU ASSHOLE! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU STUPID BASTARD?''

Dean's so glad to see the boy that he doesn't even punch him in the face and instead helps untangle Bray's hand from around his neck.

Now that's progress.

.

.

.

The sun rises in South Dakota.

Again.

Dean Winchester once again finds himself sitting by a hospital bed.

''You know,'' Bray murmurs. ''I think he kind of looks like you.''

Dean hums noncommittally. He'll coo over the new baby with Ruby a little later. For now, he only has eyes for his girl. He doesn't think he has ever seen her look so at peace with life. So still. So happy and beautiful. And she doesn't even like babies! Just last week, she had no idea how to hold one correctly. Fuck, the girl still has no idea how to interact with Hope. Looking at her right now, you'd never know. She looks like a natural, holding her son close to her chest and gazing down at him adoringly, as if he is the single most precious gift in the whole world.

''Don't you think he looks like you?'' She's whispering, trailing a finger down the infant's cheek.

''Hmm?'' He snaps out of his trance and looks down at the baby in his daughter's arms. ''Oh, uh, not really.''

She looks disappointed. ''No?''

''Nah, he's all you. He's beautiful.''

A smile lights up her eyes. ''Dad.'' Reluctantly, she tears her eyes away from the baby and looks up at him. ''I want to thank you for being here. For staying with me and putting up with my craziness.''

''Anytime, my sugar.''

She beams from ear to ear when he calls her that. ''How's your hand?''

''Better than Alex's.''

She looks a little sheepish. ''The doctor said it wasn't broken.''

He tilts his head back and laughs.

''So, Alex and I were going to wait until everyone was here to tell you what name we chose,'' she starts, biting down on her lip. ''But...'' She looks down at her child, excited and elated; light flush of crimson covering her cheeks. ''I can't wait. I want to tell you now. Your grandson's name,'' she says, voice dripping with happiness and pride. ''Is Robert Dean Crowell. Robbie for short. What do you think?''

''I think,'' he stands and moves over to her, perching on the edge of the bed. He looks down at the baby staring up at him with his mother's bright eyes. Dean smiles. ''I think it's perfect. He's perfect. You're perfect.''

She blushes. ''Yeah?''

''Absolutely.'' He leans in to kiss her forehead. ''And I think you're going to be great at this, Lila Bray.''

She has tears in her eyes when he pulls away from her. ''Thank you, Daddy.''

He moves to sink back into the chair by the bed. ''Now,'' he frowns thoughtfully. ''About this whole Grandpa thing... I'm not so sure I'm down with that. You think you could just get him to call me Uncle Dean?''

.

.

.

/vi/

come on, come on, darling

let me steal this moment from you now

.

.

.

Dean Winchester is officially thirty three years old. As he steps out of the master bathroom with the drippy sink and the door that doesn't lock after his quick shower to rid himself of all of the blood and grime from the night's hunt, he catches sight of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The blaring red numbers scream 12:01 at him mockingly and he sighs heavily. Is it tomorrow already?

January 24th, 2012. Thirty three years. 12053 days. Too many minutes to count. At this moment in time, he feels more like a seventy threeyear old man. His bones ache and creak from the strenuous shifter hunt and he feels stiff all over. Exhaustion doesn't even begin to cover what he's feeling. He crawls into bed next to Ruby, slipping under the covers, careful not to jostle her too much. She doesn't wake but she rolls over in her sleep, body seeking his, and she folds herself into his side, one hand thrown lazily over his abdomen. His lips turn up for barely a second in a tired but contented smile. Despite the aches and pains, he has never been more comfortable, in his own bed in his own house, with Ruby curled up next to him, his daughter asleep down the hall, Cas back to earth, and Sammy's soul safe and intact.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be a good birthday.

He's somewhere between awake and asleep, drifting happily off into dreamland, feeling safe and peaceful...

...and then a tiny and hoarse voice calls from down the hall, ''Mommy! Mommy!''

His eyes pop open.

Of course.

The calls turn into sobbing and desperate pleas, frustrated and scared. ''Daddy! Daddy, I need you!'' Her voice gets lost somewhere in a coughing fit and she starts to cry.

Ruby groans, pulled out of sleep. ''And that would be Bray,'' she mumbles, slurred. ''I think she's coming down with something.'' She buries her face in his chest. ''Welcome home,'' she singsongs into his shirt.

He draws in a deep breath and tries to force his groggy self to snap to attention. ''I got her,'' he promises, sliding out of bed.

She starts to protest. ''Dean, you should - ''

''Go back to sleep, sweetheart,'' he orders gently.

He's out the door before she can protest again. He pads barefooted down the hall, shuffling into his daughter's room on autopilot. She is sitting up in her little princess bed with the Little Mermaid comforter, the soft pink sheets, and the purple pillowcase, looking flushed and teary. Her Cinderella nightie is wrinkled and twisted. Looking glum, she raises her hand to wave at him. ''Hi,'' she greets sadly, and then coughs.

He tries not to smile. ''Hi. What's up with the screaming?''

She whimpers and rubs at her tear filled eyes, pouting. She doesn't answer him right away, thrusting her arms out at him instead and demanding, ''Up, Daddy.'' He decides it would be best to oblige tonight. Somewhat slowly, barely managing to swallow down a grunt of discomfort, he lifts her out of her bed and into his arms, muscles screaming in protest. He really needs to get some sleep. Her little body sags against him and she lays her head on his chest, tangled blond hair obscuring her face. ''I feel yucky,'' she rasps out miserably.

And then she sniffles and wipes her nose on his t-shirt.

He brushes hair out of her face to feel her forehead and a frown pulls at his lips. ''You're a little warm.''

Her arms wind around his neck and she hides her face in the crook of his neck. ''My throat hurts,'' she complains. Abruptly, she pulls away from him and stares at him with wide, horrified eyes. ''Am I gonna die?''

A small and tired laugh pushes out of his lips. ''No way, sugar. You're not going to die.''

He's pretty sure she's not going to be sleeping either.

.

.

.

Bray sits on the couch, coughing and sniffling and wiping her nose on her blanket or her sleeve, blatantly ignoring the box of tissues that is sitting right next to her on the arm of the couch. She's got the remote control in her germy little hands and she's flipping through the channels aimlessly while her dad putters around in the kitchen in search of the Children's Tylenol that he has searched every bathroom for and still cannot find. When he finally emerges from the kitchen with a juice box and the Tylenol, the little girl's eyes widen and she lets out a small ''eep'' noise before she dives headfirst under her blanket. ''No!'' She squeals. ''No medicine!''

He snickers lightly and puts the bottle and the juice box down on the coffee table. He remembers that, once upon a time, Sam used to do the same thing when faced with the evil cough syrup. ''Come on, sugar,'' he sits down on the couch and swats at the lump under the covers. ''I know this crap tastes like ass but it'll help you feel better.''

''Maybe I don't want to feel better,'' she whines.

''Please?'' He tries. ''For me?''

Slowly, she pokes her head out from underneath the blankets, just enough so that he can see her big eyes peering up at him.

''Hey,'' he swipes the juice box off the table and holds it out to her. ''Look what Daddy brought. It's your favourite.''

Her eyes light up hopefully. ''Grape juice? Mommy never lets me have grape juice. She says it stains.''

''Mommy's not here.''

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lower lip, but then she reaches for it.

He yanks it away from her unceremoniously. ''Ah, ah, ah. You'll get your juice, but only if you agree to take the medicine first. I know it sucks, doll, but you've gotta take it.''

She throws the blankets off her body and sits up all the way, looking none too happy at the current blackmail situation she has found herself in. She sits pouting, arms crossed, bottom lip jutted out, for at least a minute. Until the allure of the grape juice treat gets to her. She sighs dramatically and gives in with a roll of her eyes. ''Fiiiiine.''

He grins triumphantly and has to push back a whoop of victory. ''That's my girl.'' He ruffles her hair. He pulls the straw off the juice box and rips the wrapper away. ''We'll do it really fast, Lila Bray, and then as soon as you swallow it, you can wash it down with juice and get that nasty taste out of your mouth. Deal?''

She looks nervous but she nods anyway. ''Deal.'' Her anxiety only seems to grow when he puts the juice box back down on the table and grabs the Tylenol. She fidgets, pushing herself onto her knees. ''Daddy, I think...I think we should wake up Mommy. Just in case you spill.'' She nods decisively. ''Because Mommy never spills.''

''I think we're doing fine. You ready?''

She nods her head, somewhat reluctantly. He has just poured the Tylenol into a spoon and he's moving towards her when she suddenly holds out a hand and cries out, ''Wait!'' Started, he blinks and has to put his hand under the spoon to avoid spilling it. She pinches her nose with her thumb and forefinger and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. ''Okay,'' she says, ''go.'' And then she holds her breath. He does it quickly this time and doesn't give either one of them a chance to chicken out.

See, there's a reason why Ruby is usually the one who handles these things. Ruby's motto is You don't like it? Well, too bad. I have no fucks to give; you're doing it anyway because it's good for you. Dean's motto is You don't like it? Okay, fuck this shit. Let's have pie before dinner and jump in rain puddles. They live in a perpetually good cop/bad cop household. Faced with his daughter's Disney Princess eyes, he almost always backs down. He can face fugly hellbeasts but a three year old has him wrapped around her little finger.

She squirms and makes an odd sort of mewl-like noise when he puts the spoon in her mouth, but she swallows it all down. She starts to gag as soon as it's down. He saw that one coming.

''Lila Bray,'' he warns.

She stops gagging.

She doesn't open her eyes or remove her hand from over her nose until he holds the straw to her mouth and she gulps down enough grape juice to make the taste go away. He would say it's a little strange that she hates the taste of grape medicine yet loves the taste of grape juice, but... Honestly, he tasted that Children's Tylenol one day, just to see why she hated it so much and now he gets it. It tastes like ass. It's even worse than that shit Ruby force fed him years ago to prevent him from coughing up his lungs. And that was witchcraft. The people who make it are clearly sadistic.

He offers her a reassuring smile when she opens her eyes. ''That was very brave,'' he soothes.

She smiles weakly around the straw but doesn't say anything, too busy sucking greedily.

''Whoa,'' he carefully pulls the straw out of her mouth. ''Slow down,'' he advises. ''Take a breath. Don't go crazy. You don't want to make yourself sick.''

''I'm already sick,'' she reminds him.

''Then you don't want to make yourselfsicker.''

He stands and leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, before gathering up the Tylenol. ''I'll be right back. Do not get grape juice on the couch or your mother will kill us both.''

He's gone less than three minutes and in those three minutes, he manages to convince himself that somehow the juice box will have exploded all over her and the couch when he gets back. That would be bad. It's not like they can turn the cushion over. They already did that the last time she got grape juice on the couch. There is a reason why Ruby has outlawed the consumption of grape juice while in her house. Ruby has taken a great deal of pride in redecorating their first house, even going so far as to spend a lot of money to import a really, really ugly rug. If Bray gets grape juice on her couch or her precious rug one more time, Ruby will kill him and make a rug out of him. She has told him this.

Much to his surprise, Bray is still nursing the juice box when he gets back and there is none on the couch. Pleasantly surprised, he takes up residence on the couch next to her and resigns not to move until morning. He thinks he has earned that. Bray, happy as a clam despite the sniffles, snuggles into his side, much like her mother does, and throws her comforter over the both of them. ''What are we watching?'' He asks, relaxing against the back of the couch.

''I dunno,'' she shrugs. ''But there's a talking dog.''

She sounds awed by that fact.

''Oh, well. A plus then.''

Her eyes stay firmly on the television screen, hands clenched tightly around her juice box prize, and he keeps his eyes firmly on his girl, rubbing her back lightly as she relaxes. He supposes there could be worse ways to spend a birthday.

And then Bray looks up at him with those fucking huge Bambi blue eyes of hers and says, ''Thank you, Daddy'' and makes everything entirely worth it.

Oh yeah.

It's a good birthday so far.

.

.

.

By the end of the talking dog movie, she's conked out against him and he's almost asleep, head tipped backwards in what has to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position whatsoever. His body is going to hate him forever and he is going to have a massive headache if he doesn't move, but he's simply too tired to move a muscle. He's so close to being totally dead to the world when she whispers out a slur of, ''Daddy?''

He lifts his head and looks down at her. ''Yeah?''

''Happy birthday.''

Then she falls back to sleep.

He smiles, and maybe it's just the exhaustion, but there seems to be a lump in his throat.

Happy birthday, indeed.

.

.

.

''There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself.''

- John Gregory Brown

---

AN: CONFETTI! IT'S A PARADE! Seriously, thank fuck it's over. First of all, if there were any timeline, age or date inconsistencies, or typos, I do apologize. This fic was hastily edited. Second of all, I am terribly sorry for what I am about to do.

*deep breath*

Part One: didn't know i'd love you so much
Title taken from the song ''I Didn't Know I'd Love You So Much'' from the horror musical Repo! The Genetic Opera, performed by Alexa Vega and Anthony Stewart Head (aka the girl from Spy Kids and Giles from Buffy). Takes place on Christmas Eve (technically Christmas day), 2008.

Part Two: though we're consumed by loves and doubts
Title taken from the poem Never to Reach the Oblivious Dark by Dylan Thomas. I feel like I might have messed up some dates in this one, but I'm not completely sure, so I'm just going to leave it.

Part Three: from love's first fever to her plague
Title from the poem of the same name by Dylan Thomas. I was really excited to write this one, because I was excited to go into her anxiety problems in depth, but...I'm not sure I like how it turned out.

Part Four: she belongs to fairytales
Title from the song Love Song Requiem by Trading Yesterday. I took way too long on this one. I did things I shouldn't have, like taking long breaks so I could pick out Bray's wedding dress and decide on what song she and Alex were going to have their first dance to. By the way, it's the acoustic version of Heartlines by Florence + the Machine. (And I'm thinking I might put up pictures of her wedding dress on my Livejournal.) Oh, and I'm pretty sure Jensen Ackles ages like George Clooney, so when he's actually fifty two, he'll probably still be hotter than hell.

Part Five: my hero bares his nerves
Title taken from the poem of the same name by Dylan Thomas. I got a book of Dylan Thomas poetry out of the library. Can you tell? I don't know exactly what Alex's job is that keeps him out at all hours of the night but in my head, it is not a glamorous job at all and it quite possibly involves dirt and grime. It's something that's probably a little bit on the dangerous side and a little time consuming, but he quite likes it because he gets to work with his hands. And tonight he just so happened to get stuck with the graveyard shift, so it's also something that has a graveyard shift. Also, I've kind of fallen in love with both Nick and Connor (played by Steven R. McQueen and Thomas Dekker respectively). BUT POOR NICKY! Boy's got problems. In a deleted scene, I kind of went on to explain why he has been left a single father of little Hope: His girlfriend, Savannah, was a pretty messed up teen (and involved in a love triangle with Nick and Connor) and about ten months after her daughter's birth and six months after her break up with Nick, she kind of...got high, got behind the wheel, and passed away.

Part Six: let me steal this moment from you now
Title from the song Running Up That Hill originally by Kate Bush, most notably covered by Placebo. I don't know the time of year it was when Sam got his soul back, but I assumed it was late November/early December, which means this takes place a little over a month after he's gotten his soul back. Possibly somewhere near Mannequin 3: The Reckoning.

And this has been the longest oneshot/longest author's note I have ever written. If you have, in fact, read all of my ramblings...I am so sorry. I guess I've just missed talking to you all. I promise I will never go on like this again. Love to you all! See you in February!