AN: I started shipping Dean/Laurel when I realized how remarkably similair their characters are, what with the guilt and the substance abuse and the hearts of gold. The fact that they're played by Jensen Ackles and Katie Cassidy helps (Dean/Ruby 1.0 is one of my SPN OTPs) so it was probably bound to happen anyway. I started a few fics for them and then, a couple weeks ago, I started this collection.

I started Underdogs Wednesday (''underdogs'' being my ship name for Laurel/Dean) in order to cancel out the gross level of hate Laurel gets and the disappointing level of hate Dean gets in their respective fandoms and it turned into something that actually makes Wednesday nights fun again.

Here you will find mini-fics about Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance getting All the Nice Things. ...Since their shows refuse to give them any sort of happiness or plotlines ever. Meta, headcanons and other non fic things are also a part of this collection but anything that isn't fic will be posted on my AO3 and my LJ since this is a fic only space.

First prompt plucked from the imagineyourotp tumblr.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize.

Underdogs Wednesdays

Written by Becks Rylynn

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Imagine person A of your OTP taking care of person B while person B is sick or injured.

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Laurel's on the couch tonight.

Maybe it's because she has a DVR full of quality television and some trashy reality shows - don't judge her, you watch shitty shows too, everyone does; don't lie, you're a secret Keeping Up with the Kardasians fan, aren't you? - that she never has time to watch. Maybe it's because she was too tired to even drag herself to bed after a hellish day at work. Maybe it's just because it's pouring rain tonight and she likes the sound of the rain. Or maybe it's because their bed - the one that Dean so painstakingly picked out with an almost disturbing amount of intensity, mumbling under his breath, over and over, this is just like Sophie's Choice, to which her response was, I really don't think it is, sweetie, but you're cute - feels cold, empty and lonely without him.

We'll just never know.

Whatever the reason, when Dean is away on a hunt, she often ''accidentally'' falls asleep on the couch. She's not waiting. She's just...being prepared. And it's not like he doesn't pace by the window every night Black Canary goes out on patrol with Oli - sorry, The Arrow, and he can't come. (Spoiler alert: The Arrow is Oliver. Did everyone know The Arrow was Ollie? She almost bashed his head right in when she unmasked him, the lying prick.)

She's on the couch, paying very little attention to the episode of Scandal playing, half asleep, wearing one of Dean's plaid flannel shirts over her tank top and shorts, and then there's a sickening sort of thud from just outside the front door and she springs up, on her feet and racing over to throw open the door, suddenly wide awake. Naturally, considering this is her life, it's Dean. Of course. Lying in a heap, all clawed to hell from some beast or another, probably concussed and soaking wet from the rain. He's got his keys out, like he was trying to get inside when he passed out, and his breathing is disturbingly, terrifyingly ragged. He's not even breathing, really. He's wheezing. He does wake up while she's dragging his dead weight into the apartment, just long enough to slur out something along the lines of, no hospitals, please, Laurel, please, no hospitals. Because this is the stubborn asshole she's going to spend the rest of her life with. Oh, man.

Hey, at least he's not some rich dude who runs around in green leather pants and face paint shooting bad guys full of arrows, though, right? So. Step up.

And she's panicking. No duh, she's panicking. Because her significant other is bleeding out and mumbling incoherently on the floor. Also, it's not like this is a normal occurrence. They've been together for awhile now and she can honestly say that nope, he's never come home half dead before! And she is a human being, so yes. There is panicking. Plus, she admits that she's a crier - shut up, there's nothing wrong with being emotional - so there's crying panicking. And hell yeah, she thinks he's a goddamn moron because what the fuck, dude's bleeding all over her carpet and he knows that thing was expensive and it ties the room together, okay?

But she is still Laurel fucking Lance. So she gets shit done. She smacks him awake, heaves him into the bathroom, and dries him off. He's half conscious, whispering apologies and curling one arm around his abdomen. It's not even that bad, Laur, he's trying to tell her, don't cry, please don't cry. She snorts, rolls her eyes, and says, like I would cry for you, cutting away his clothes with precision. She stitches him up carefully, slowly, pretending she doesn't fumble with the extensive first aid kit he put under the sink, and she does it all while he's incoherent and keeps nodding off. He is all clawed up and bloodstained, shaking from blood loss, feverish and sweaty, and his fingers are digging into her hips painfully, forehead pressed against her shoulder. But her hands only shake a little while she does it, and she doesn't cry, even though she feels like she might.

This is not the first time she has stitched someone's wounds up in a non-hospital setting without pain medication. After a nasty showdown with Sebastian Blood, she sat in Team Arrow's disconcerting little lair and stitched her way up Oliver's right side while Felicity was panicking over the comms about Diggle maybe needing surgery for internal bleeding and Dean was fitting Roy Harper with a sling, muttering about how this is literally the most ridiculous thing I have ever been a part of and one time, there was a giant teddy bear - hey, honey, have I told you about the giant teddy bear yet? That's a - well, it's not a good story, but it's a story.

(Eyes on me, Captain America, Roy had sneered out through teeth gritted in pain. You're supposed to be fixing my arm, not flirting. And Dean had poked a bruise on the kid's ribs and tossed him a shit eating grin after Roy had shrieked loudly.)

The difference is that this is Dean.

Despite the green leather, she has never thought of Oliver as indestructible. She knows too much to ever believe that. Dean, on the other hand, has always seemed more intact to her. More capable, to be honest. Which sounds horrible and she recognizes that. She doesn't think he's more competent than Ollie, not exactly. Just more experienced. It's why she helps Oliver fight crime and agrees to stay away from hunting. Maybe the biggest difference is that Dean has never let her down. He has never left her like the rest of them have, and for a long time, she has foolishly allowed herself to believe that he never will.

The blood spilled on her bathroom floor, red against white, reminds her that one day he could.

She is actually very skilled with doing stitches. Diggle told her that once. She has quick and nimble fingers. She does them so well, so finely, that it barely even scars. Would've been a great medic, he said. She never told anyone that she had seriously thought about med school once, had even thought about what schools she was going to apply to, only to realize when her father came home with a bullet wound in his shoulder, that she can only deal with blood to a point. She holds it together quite nicely while she's fixing Dean up, doing her best to think of only the task at hand and not how fast and loud her heartbeat is in her ears, or his pained intake of breath when she threads the needle through his skin.

It is only afterwards, while he is resting in bed, bruised and bloodstained but alive, curled under the covers in his boxers, still shaking and feverish, but healing, that she allows herself to break. She locks herself in the bathroom and cleans up the blood on the floors and the sink and smeared on the wall, before scrubbing at the blood on her hands until her skin is raw. She doesn't have a panic attack. She doesn't cry. She doesn't throw up or shake uncontrollably. She just sits on the edge of the bathtub and thinks about how this is not what she signed up for. Having his blood on her hands, feeling that amount of terror, loving him that deeply that his blood traumatizes her. She didn't plan for any of this. She didn't plan for him. She never planned for him.

It's a weak moment. One where she wonders if this is even worth it. Because - fuck. This is hard. This is really hard. And it's always going to be like this. That's the part that gets her. It will always be like this, with the blood and the fear and the pain. They're never going to have an easy relationship. One of their lives will always be in danger. Every week is something new with them. Is this what she really wants?

She shelves the thought for the night, pulls herself together, and sits by his side all night long, carding her fingers through his hair and checking to make sure he hasn't left her yet.

The next morning, when he wakes up, groggy and hurting but in strangely good spirits, he tells her about the five year old boy that he saved from a wendigo with an odd sort of light in his eyes, not happy but proud, hands flailing dramatically as he tells the story, she'll realize that yes, it will be hard, harder than any of her other relationships, but so, so incredibly worth it. And she'll tell him that, too. That it's worth it. No matter what.

Six months later, she'll be strung up in a dirty warehouse in The Glades and this week's bad guy will decide that bloodletting is an appropriate form of torture for Starling City's Black Canary, gotta make sure you can't fly away, right? There will be several cuts and a growing pool of blood on the floor before The Arrow (he's trying to get Green Arrow to catch on, but the newscasters are stubborn and he's hesitant about letting Felicity send a letter to the news station asking them to call him Green Arrow) literally swoops down in his green leather and brand new mask, flinging enough arrows to divert their attention, allowing Dean and Sam to rush over and cut her down. And not long after, when Dean is bursting into the emergency room of Starling City General with her limp body in his arms and her blood on his hands, he'll have to remember what she said to him that morning, when she kissed him on the side of the mouth before re-dressing the wound on his right shoulder.

Nothing about our relationship will ever be easy, but I think it's worth it. I think we're worth it. Don't you?

end