AN: HAPPY UNDERDOGS WEDNESDAY!

I apologize for the late-ness of this, but I hope that the fact that there is not one, not two, but FIVE ficlets here makes up for that.

So, this is basically what the next few installments will be. Five random prompt ''drabbles.'' I got the prompts off of a random prompt table and also, I use the word drabble loosely, because it is impossible for me to write any sort of fic using only 100 words. Even 200 is difficult.

Also, none of these drabbles are related to each other.

Suggested Listening: We Are Stars by The Pierces (which is what I listened to over and over again while writing these and it will be going onto my Birds of Prey fanmix that I am making).

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize.


Underdogs Wednesdays

Written by Becks Rylynn


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Underdogs Wednesday #9: 1-5/30 Prompt Drabbles

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(1)

Prompt: Evidence
Word Count: 220

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Detective Lance has no substantial evidence, and Dean knows this.

There are many charges that could be laid against him that would stick and probably send him to jail for a real long time, if not for the rest of his life. This is not one of those charges. Quentin doesn't have anything concrete, because there is nothing concrete. The idea that Dean Winchester could ever be that dumbass running around in green leather shooting people full of arrows is nothing short of absurd. Not because Dean isn't the vigilante type or anything (because he so is) but because the idea of him ever wearing any sort of all leather outfit is ridiculous. Not to mention the bow and arrow thing is not and will never be his style. So, no. Despite the fact that he's handcuffed to a table, Dean isn't particularly worried about these charges.

This is why, when he sees her storming into the bullpen like a hurricane, hair billowing behind her, eyes lit up with righteous fury, Dean almost feels a little sorry for Quentin. He knows what it's like to be on the end of her wrath. It's kind of terrifying. But. Then again. Almost is the keyword.

Hey.

He was told he had one phone call.

Was he not supposed to call his lawyer?

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(2)

Prompt: Secret
Word Count: 655
Other Notes: I really need to learn to accept that whenever I have Dean/Laurel + Sin in a scene together, it is not going to be just a drabble. Because I have ''feels'' apparently.

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''So,'' Sin's voice is muffled around the double bacon cheeseburger in her mouth, ''there's a new vigilante in town.''

There's an exchange of odd, secretive looks between Dean and Laurel, which Sin takes to mean yeah, we're kinda worried about it. Of course, neither one of them would ever say that out loud, especially not in front of Sin, so instead, Laurel clears her throat and wraps her hands around her steaming mug of herbal tea, and Dean smiles, wide enough for eye crinkles, but not wide enough to be genuine. ''I wouldn't worry about it,'' he says, and takes a gulp of his coffee.

Sin stuffs a fist full of fries into her mouth and hums thoughtfully. ''Do you think he knows he's not the only vigilante in town?''

Dean chuckles into his coffee. ''I think he'll find out sooner or later.''

Laurel looks back down at the case file she has been studying for the past fifteen minutes, twirling the pen in her hand. ''Can we talk about something else?''

''Okay,'' Sin smiles pleasantly and downs her soda. ''How about Oliver Queen?'' The response to that is less than pleasant. She expected that. Dean narrows his eyes and angrily sips at his coffee, which is apparently something that he can do. Laurel freezes and slowly lifts her head, wide eyes meeting Sin's, probably because Laurel has done her best to shield Sin from everything Queen related and also because Sin has never actually said his name out loud to Laurel. He's pretty much been known as He Who Must Not Be Named in their household. Just the asshole who not only broke Laurel's heart but is also kind of the reason Sara's dead (not that Laurel has ever said that, but Quentin has). ''Tell me,'' Sin pushes her plate away from her and leans her elbows on the table. ''Does he know anything about your life now? Does he know you're married? Does he know you have me?''

''Why should he?'' Laurel asks tightly. ''My private life is private. It's none of his concern.''

''I'm, like, 73% sure he still wants you to have his billionaire playboy babies though, and that could be a problem,'' Sin says, and throws a mildly concerned look in Dean's direction when he growls. ''Right? See? He agrees.'' When Laurel sighs tiredly, Sin throws her hands up in the air and leans back in her seat. ''Hey, I just don't want Dean to kill any rich guys, okay? I like Dean. He's grown on me. Like a fungus.''

''Well, thanks, kiddo,'' Dean chirps, and reaches forward to pat her on the head. ''I like you, too. I'd like you better if you didn't leave your clothes in random places all over my apartment, but still.''

''Your apartment? I'm sorry, are you forgetting I was there first?''

''I pay half the rent. My name is on the lease.''

Laurel laughs, although it's not as light as usual, and shakes her head. ''Don't worry about Oliver Queen, sweetie, and don't worry about the new vigilante. We have it covered. You just worry about passing history.''

''Besides,'' Dean booms, ''we have far more interesting problems to worry about.'' His voice drops down to a whisper and he leans in closer. ''Did your mother tell you that we're bugging Malcolm Merlyn? Because we're bugging Malcolm Merlyn.''

''Dean.'' Laurel lets out an exasperated, long suffering sigh. ''I wish you wouldn't tell her these things. She's sixteen.''

''Almost seventeen,'' Sin snaps back. ''And also, I already know you're bugging Malcolm Merlyn.'' When they both stare blankly at her, she shrugs and steals Dean's coffee, taking a dainty sip of it. ''What? I live with two superheroes, okay? I've learned things about getting information. You can't keep secrets from me.'' And then Laurel does that thing where she folds her arms and arches a single eyebrow - it's definitely a Mom thing - and Sin cracks. ''Okay, Charlie told me.''

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(3)

Prompt: Blood
Word Count: 1,285
Other Notes: I...have more Laurel/Helena feelings than I thought I did?

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It's exceedingly clear that approaching Laurel is not the safest thing to do right now.

Helena Bertinelli has never been good at doing the safe things in life.

When she joins the group of terrified friends and family at Starling City General, her first instinct, after getting an update on Dean's condition (currently in surgery, has lost a lot of blood, the bullet went in through his back when he spun Laurel around to shield her and just missed his heart) and squeezing Sam's hand, is to get to Laurel. This instinct stopped surprising Helena a long time ago. Laurel is her family. She has been for years now. Laurel saved her. She saved her in ways that Oliver never could. So, when she sees Laurel sitting by herself, away from everyone else, knees drawn up to her chest, wringing her bloodstained hands, Helena doesn't even stop to think about it. She marches right up to her, holds out her hand, and says, as softly as possible for Helena, ''Get up.''

Laurel, pale and trembling, still looking a little dazed, doesn't protest. Just slips her hand into Helena's and lets her pull her to her unsteady feet.

Over with Sam and Sara, Quentin looks endlessly relieved that Laurel has let someone in.

After she orders Sara to come and find them if there's any news on Dean, Helena leads Laurel into a nearby bathroom to clean her up. In the fluorescent light, Laurel looks even worse. There is a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, her tear tracked skin is so pale she's almost translucent, her hands are shaking terribly, and she is covered in blood. It's smeared on her cheeks from wiping away tears with her bloody hands, and it's staining the front of her white shirt.

None of the blood is hers.

It's...a disconcerting amount of blood for one person to lose. Helena presses her lips together. She doesn't say a word. She just turns on the hot water, gently slips off Laurel's wedding ring, and helps her scrub the blood off. Laurel lets her. She stands there and allows Helena to wash her hands for her, unmoving. Her eyes are empty. It's only when Helena is wiping the blood off her cheeks that she even speaks up, voice hoarse and barely audible. ''He told me I was worth it,'' she says, and her voice is completely hollow.

Helena doesn't falter. She dries off Laurel's hands. ''Dean?''

Laurel nods. ''Before the ambulance came. I asked him why he...'' She trails off and sways slightly, looking sick. ''He told me I was worth it.''

''Well,'' Helena clears her throat. ''You are.''

There are tears caught on Laurel's eyelashes. It's pretty clear, just from the look in her eyes, that she doesn't agree. She presses her lips together tightly, muffling a sob that is viciously trying to rip its way out. ''If he - ''

''He won't.''

''He's supposed to be it for me, Helena. You don't get another it.''

That's when she falters. There's an ache in her throat and a chasm in her heart where Michael used to be. ''I know.'' Neither one of them say anything for a long time. They let the silence stretch between them. Helena is eventually the one to break the silence, with the question that has been nagging at her for hours now, ''What happened, Laurel?''

She's expecting the answer to come in an incoherent sob. Instead, Laurel's eyes go dark - darker than Helena has ever seen them - and she says, in this low, dangerous snarl, ''Sebastian Blood escaped Iron Heights. And he came after me.''

A surge of burning anger flows through Helena and pools in her gut.

''I didn't see him, or the gun,'' Laurel says. ''Dean did.'' All of a sudden, it's like the air has been knocked out of her. ''He was aiming for me,'' she manages to get out, breaths coming in short pants.

''Oh.'' Helena grasps Laurel's arms. ''Hey. Hey, look at me,'' her hands move to Laurel's cheeks. ''This was not your fault.''

''He was aiming for me, Lena. He was after me. This was about me. How is this not my fault? This is - '' Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. ''This is Tommy,'' she chokes out. ''This is Tommy all over again.''

''No,'' Helena's fingers tighten around Laurel's arms. ''Laurel, no. Listen to me. Sebastian Blood is a fucking freak, okay? That's not your fault. He was a freak long before you. You know as well as I do that he would have found someone else to fixate on.''

''He sent me letters.''

Helena's blood runs cold. ''...What?''

''Sebastian,'' Laurel clarifies. ''H-He sent me letters. He told me that I had taken everything away from him and that he was going to do the same to me.''

''You...You never told me that,'' Helena says, swallowing hard.

''I never told anyone that. Not even Dean.'' Her face crumples and her hollow, dead sounding voice turns into a distressed whimper. ''I didn't want to worry him. I didn't want to worry anyone.''

Helena lets out a breath and closes her eyes. Yeah, that sounds like Laurel. According to Laurel, everyone else comes before her. It's why she and Dean are so annoyingly, obnoxiously perfect for each other. ''We'll get him, Laurel,'' she says quietly. ''We'll take Sebastian down, I promise.''

Laurel meets her eyes. There's something in her eyes, a flicker, that Helena vaguely recognizes, but she can't quite place. It's like something she knew a long time ago. ''Right,'' she nods. ''We'll get him. The Birds will get him.'' She nods, almost mechanically, and drops her gaze down to the floor. ''We'll get him and we'll send him back to prison, where he'll get to live out the rest of his life alone.'' She breaks free of Helena's grasp and drifts back over to the sink, snatching up her wedding ring and slipping it back onto her finger. ''Even if Dean doesn't.'' Her hand clenches into a fist.

Helena takes a step towards her. ''Laurel - ''

''Lena,'' Laurel breathes out, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opens her eyes, she looks down at her shirt, where her husband's blood is staining the white red. ''Can you...?'' She clears her throat and shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, crossing her arms over the blood. ''I need to get out of this shirt. Could you find me something else to wear? Please?''

Helena's gut is telling her that she shouldn't leave Laurel alone. But she's never been able to say no to Laurel Lance. So she says, ''Okay, I can do that,'' kisses Laurel on the side of the head, and goes to find her some new clothes.

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Laurel is gone when she gets back.

Helena realizes, with a start, that the look in Laurel's eyes, the one she recognized, was vengeance.

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''Laurel's going to kill Sebastian Blood,'' she says, after she has dragged Oliver and Sara away from the rest of the group. ''Are either of you willing to let her become a killer?''

The answer to that question is, apparently, a resounding no, because they're both racing towards the exit before she even finishes her sentence. Helena stays behind long enough to tell Quentin and Sam some stupid lie about taking Laurel home to change her clothes, and then she's gone. Oliver and Sara might be able to slow Laurel down, but she hopes they're not stupid enough to believe they will actually get through to her. There are very few people in this world who can get through to stubborn, strong-willed Laurel. One of them might not make it through surgery, one is on a red eye flight back to Starling City from her spring break in Mexico with Thea Queen and Roy Harper, and the other...

...is just really hoping she can get to Laurel before she puts a bullet through Sebastian Blood's eye.

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(4)

Prompt: Puppy love
Word Count: 1,084

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''How does it not bother you that our daughter is marrying Oliver Queen's son?''

Laurel sip at her coffee and doesn't even look up from the Sunday crossword. ''Probably because they're four years old, it's puppy love, and the minister is a giant teddy bear,'' she says smoothly, pushing up her glasses. ''Last week, she wanted to marry you. The week before that, she wanted to marry Joanna. At least she's found someone her own age.''

''Okay, A) I'm a catch. Who wouldn't want to marry me? And B) No,'' Dean stresses. ''No, see, this is different. She blushes when she's around that...that...''

Laurel looks up. ''Yes?''

He struggles for the right word and eventually settles on, ''...Hooligan?''

Laurel lets out a breathy laugh and goes back to her crossword. ''You lovable old man, you,'' she murmurs, not unkindly, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of Dean's neck. ''She also blushes whenever she's around Cas. Are you worried about that?''

Dean slumps in his chair and crosses his arms. ''Why is she so obsessed with marriage anyway? Marriage - ''

She sends him a warning look.

'' - Is wonderful and I love you, but she's too young.''

''Hey, you're the one who let her watch The Princess Bride.''

''Well, I regret it. Why do we even let her hang out with that kid?''

''Uh, we kind of have to,'' Laurel says, ''They're sort of related. Oliver and I are step-siblings now - ''

''Which is still the weirdest thing that has ever happened. Weirder than that one time Sam was a car and weirder than leather clad superheroes.''

'' - Which makes them step-cousins, and even if they weren't, Helena is my best friend and one of my business partners, and she's married to Oliver, so we're stuck with him.''

Dean's response to this is, naturally, to pout. Because he spends way too much time around four year olds.

''Why is there a Winchester pouting in my kitchen?'' Oliver's voice asks, as he jogs into the kitchen, out of breath, sweat drenched shirt clinging to his chest. ''Also, good morning,'' he greets Laurel warmly, and with a kiss to the top of her head, but gives Dean a wide berth, which is definitely a wise choice. ''When did you get here?''

''About half an hour ago,'' Laurel's eyes are still on the crossword. ''We're here to greet the honeymooners. My two children,'' she looks pointedly at Dean, ''firmly believe that Thea is going to bring them back something from Cuba.''

''Why wouldn't she?'' Dean asks. ''Thea loves me. She laughs at my jokes. Nobody laughs at my jokes.''

Oliver, head buried in the fridge, comes out with a mountain of Tupperware containers and chocolate frosting already smeared on the side of his face from leftover chocolate torte. ''There's a reason for that.''

''Does that not negate the morning jog, Oliver?'' Laurel asks.

He shrugs. ''Helena's pregnant. I'm sympathy eating.''

Dean says, ''That's not a thing.''

Oliver says, ''Nobody asked you.''

''You could cut the sexual tension with a knife,'' Laurel quips, and takes another sip of coffee, smiling innocently when they both look at her in horror.

''So, Queen,'' Dean rises to his feet. ''Are you aware of what's happening in the living room?''

''Is it a circus? I love the circus.'' When he catches sight of the way Dean and Laurel are looking at him, he adds on, ''On my fifth birthday, I woke up and there was a circus in my living room.''

''Fucking rich people,'' Dean grumbles in disgust. ''No, there's no circus, you privileged ass. Our kids are getting married.''

Oliver freezes with a forkful of torte halfway to his mouth. ''...Excuse me?''

''Mmmhmm.''

''No.''

''Yep.''

''Nooo.''

''It's happening. They made wedding rings out of drinking straws.''

''Well,'' Oliver abandons his food and shakes his head, looking very confused and very unhappy. ''Why did nobody stop them? Have they gotten to the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' part? Because I object. Trust me, Queen and Winchester genes are not meant to mingle.''

''Who the fuck said anything about genes mingling, you pervert? They're four years old.''

''Oh my god,'' Laurel sighs, and goes back to her crossword.

''HEY!''

All three of them jump at the sound of the shout. Even Laurel, who usually doesn't startle at loud noises, considering she's usually the one making them. Helena is standing in the doorway, wearing a deep purple silk gown more suited for a gala rather than a lazy Sunday morning. She's got her hands on her hips and she looks not at all happy. She looks rather pissed, actually. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are narrowed. She looks like one angry pregnant woman.

''Helena,'' Dean greets. ''You're looking positively murderous today. It's a great look on you. Makes you look...younger.'' She snaps her gaze to him. ''Not that you need to look younger,'' he tacks on hastily.

Oliver meekly holds out his abandoned forkful of gooey chocolate-y goodness. ''Torte?'' She tilts her head to the side and glares. ''It's chocolate.'' Nothing. ''I love you?'' Still nothing. ''You look really beautiful today. Did I mention that yet?''

All she says, when she finally opens her mouth to speak, is, ''What the fuck?''

Dean and Oliver look at each other.

''Uh,'' Laurel reluctantly discards her crossword puzzle. ''What's up, honey?''

''Our children are getting married,'' Helena says, speaking slowly, as if talking to a very small child. ''It's kind of a big deal. Sara put flowers in her hair. John arranged all of the stuffed animals. Sam and Felicity made a mix CD. A MIX CD! And you lazy motherfuckers are sitting here eating cake?''

''It's actually torte,'' Oliver tries.

Helena's lip curls in disgust. ''Disappointed in you,'' she points at Oliver, ''disappointed in you,'' she points at Dean, ''very disappointed in you, because these boys are idiots but I expected better from you,'' she points at Laurel, who flinches. ''Get your asses in gear.'' She spins on her heel to walk away, but changes her mind at the last minute, stalks over to Oliver, grabs him by the ear, and drags him, yelping, out of the room.

Dean turns to Laurel. ''Puppy love, huh?''

''It's still puppy love, Dean,'' she hisses, but grabs his arm and starts to lead him out of the kitchen. ''They're still four. It's a pretend wedding for fun. Calm down. It's not like they're going to end up together. Mark my words, our daughter is not going to marry a Queen.''

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In hindsight, she probably jinxed them right there.

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(5)

Prompt: Fugitive
Word Count: 314

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Dean and Sam Winchester, the infamous, supposedly dead criminal mastermind brothers, seemingly permanent fixtures on America's Most Wanted, are arrested in Starling City, by Lieutenant Frank Pike outside of Laurel Lance's apartment building.

It's kind of big news. Pike is damn proud of himself, though less so when he has to slap some cuffs on Laurel for assaulting a police officer. He's known her since she was a little girl. He'd have to be a monster not to feel a little guilty for arresting her. Especially with Quentin right there. Before he puts the cuffs on her, she manages to push past him toward the older Winchester, lean up and kiss him on the lips.

He thinks it's a damn shame for such a good girl to take such a nasty fall from grace.

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In the back of the squad car, Dean and Sam are having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

''Well,'' Sam huffs. ''I'm happy you and Laurel are back together, Dean, but riddle me this: What the fuck are we supposed to do now?''

Dean smiles at him.

''Oh, y-you're smiling? You're smiling?'' Sam lets out a bitter, incredulous laugh. ''Dean, we are going to jail. For life.''

Dean keeps smiling. ''Seriously, what the hell, man?''

Dean's mouth moves, and his lips part, just long enough for Sam to see the key caught between his teeth. They key to the handcuffs. Sam blinks. Then blinks again. ''Oh.'' He looks out the window, eyes on Laurel. Before she is led away to another squad car, while her father yells at Pike, she meets Sam's eyes and gives him a very pointed, this is your one chance, do not fuck this up look. ''Oh.'' He raises his eyebrows. ''She picked his pocket.'' His eyes widen in awe. ''She picked. His. Pocket.''

Around the key, Dean says, ''I know, right? She's awesome.''

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AN: Fun fact: #2 was once part of a larger story that was basically a rewrite of season one with established Black Canary, Dean and Laurel were married, Sin was Laurel's adoptive daughter and they basically did everything that Oliver was trying to do in half the amount of time (yes, including taking down Malcolm Merlyn) and also, nobody died. This is the reason why that one cut off so abruptly. Because I cheated and used something that already existed instead of writing a new one.

And yes, I did accidentally Moira/Quentin in #4. No idea where that came from. But it made me laugh.

Next UW will be March 5th and will be 6-10/15 drabble prompts. Oooh, and if you have any random one word prompts, lay 'em on me. Some of the ones on the table I got are a little...strange.