deanstrick

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[deanstrick]

{ ♪ } Meet DEAN STRICKLAND, who is THIRTY ONE years old and OWNER OF DUTCH’S PAWN. He was born in WILMINGTON, NC and now calls WRIGHTSVILLE BEACH his home. You might have heard that he can be ADVENTUROUS & INDEPENDENT, but also be IMPATIENT & SHORT-FUSED. This is HIS story.

trigger warning: alcoholism, robbery, car accident

When Dean Strickland was born into the world it came as a surprise, with his mother’s water breaking two weeks early and not quite making it to the hospital. He was born in the backseat of his dad’s camaro two blocks out from medical services. Since then his mother claimed Dean bulldozed his way into the world, which seemed to remain something of a personality trait throughout his life. His father, known around town as Dutch, owned a pawn shop and was the old tale of someone that completely peaked in high school. The man couldn’t let go of his glory days, when he was a football star and could have any girl he wanted, destined for something far greater than what he eventually became. Which was a gruff alcoholic with a bad temper and an affinity for blaming the world for his problems. Out of all the girls he had his pick from, Dutch chose Dean’s mother because, in his eyes, she was the prettiest. But really, she was just the most cunning. Connie saw a mealticket in Dutch, a way out and likely place somewhere on the west coast. She’s always had dreams of California and in high school it was easy to promise the world when universities were knocking on your door. Then Dean ruined everything when Connie’s pregnancy test their senior year announced that he’d be joining them in nine months. The offers seemed to whittle away and  the young couple had to find a way to support themselves and the baby that was about to demand so much from their lives.

As a kid, Dean was often called Tarzan because his mom liked to keep his hair a little longer and he usually ran around every in just shorts or jeans. No shirt, no shoes, just a wild and unruly boy that never said no to an adventure. He began surfing and swimming young, his above average height aided his natural abilities — he had his father’s athleticism and his mother’s agility. The wild boy was reeled in by his father who saw a potential to relive his greatness through his son, which meant that Dutch had Dean out on the water nearly every day and ripping apart youth competitions when they came. Everyone, even the big sponsors and the big names in the sport, seemed to recognize that there was something spiritual in the way Dean could surf. Like he was a demi-god, given a gift from Zeus himself. Competitions just really didn’t do a damn thing for the kid. All he cared about was running wild with his friends, climbing things and getting into trouble, not being tamed to some structured routine where he had to practice and then compete against other kids he assumed had no lives because they were too busy training.

Something that was amazing as Dean grew up, aside from his size and stature, was that despite hardly attending school and classes he managed to pass every single one of them. He was smart, read a lot, but school was boring as hell and there was too much fun to be had out there. When he should’ve been in math class he was at the corner store shoplifting something just for the hell of it. English class? No, he was off stealing one of his neighbor’s riding lawn mowers and then using it to write messages in the school’s football field. Dean was arrested and tossed into cells more times than anyone could count or seemed to keep track of. Somehow his punishments never went further than a few nights in juvie. Dutch had a lot of friends about town, being a business owner and a former town hero, and that bought a lot of mercy. Maybe people even felt sorry for the family, given that Dean was looked at as some wild and unruly teen that wasn’t being raised or controlled, and his mother was in and out of rehab for drug use. She also struggled with bouts of depression, surely sad for the life she could’ve had and missed out on because she ended up with a baby at 18 and a significant other that never amounted to anything. Dutch, needing to do something with his life and support his child and baby mama, opened up a pawn shop. It became fairly successful but he couldn’t let go of all he should’ve been and all life had taken away from him. So he drank a lot and spent most of his time at the shop because it kept him from his reality at home.

By the time he had graduated high school, miraculously, Dean hit the road off and on, loosely following the pro surf circuit but never engaging in competition. He supported his little brother, gave him all the ins that were meant for him and watched him achieve success and dreams that he had actually wanted. Dean just wanted to travel, see things, surf in different spots around the globe, and of course find some trouble wherever he landed. It seemed a given in his life. But it all came to a halt when Dutch got into a drunk driving accident and suffered some brain damage as a result. Letting his brother go on and live the life, Dean came home and took up the pawn shop and eventually became owner when the power of attorney stepped in. The shop suffered to stay afloat since most of the money went to his father’s care, now that he needed it around the clock and Connie wasn’t capable. Nurses, especially the live-in kind, weren’t cheap. So, for a while, Dean supplemented the income with winnings he’d get from surf competitions. When he began to hate that, he started stealing and selling, even eventually graduated to robbery. Never once were any of those crimes committed in town, he wasn’t stupid no matter what public opinion of him may have been. He also kept things reasonable, never going out and doing anything flashy or buying something extravagant. It’s become just about living and surviving, doing what he has to for the old man and woman until they croak. Which, some days, he hopes is sooner rather than later.

This character is portrayed by BEN ROBSON and penned by CHANDLER.

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DELGADO, CAMELIA.

WRIGHTVILLE BEACH W/ @deanstrick​

Surfing lessons were just Cami’s latest attempt at getting herself to love Wilmington as much as Mason did. She was stuck there, so she figured she had to find a way to get used to it and she knew that finding her own thing here would help considerably. Why couldn’t that thing be surfing? As she yet another wave dragged her under, she knew exactly why. She huffed and puffed as she dragged her board out of the water, dropping it at Dean’s feet. If there was one thing the brunette hated more than anything it was being bad at something. “I think there’s something wrong with this board,” she said, hearing how ridiculous she sounded as she said it. “Or maybe I’m just really bad at this. Please say it’s the board.”

               As much as Dean wanted to comfort the brunette, he was momentarily miffed over her treatment of his board. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have twenty or so back at home --- “ya know what, Cam? I don’t throw your shit around.” Leaning forward he wrapped his large hands around the sides of the board and picked it up so he could stake it into the sand. He fully understood though so he really wasn’t all that serious with her. It was easy to get frustrated, especially since the waves weren’t all that forgiving. Dean had kept a close watch on her, nothing bad was going to happen to Cam out there. Not in his domain. “Sorry, I’m an honest man an’ I can’t in good conscience sit here an’ lie to ya.” Yeah, he certainly could. But that shit eating grin on his face wouldn’t allow her the moment. “Sit for a minute an’ chill with me. You’re tryin’ too fuckin’ hard, you’re throwin’ off your balance...” Among other small details.

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KINGSTON, GREER.

WHO: @deanstrick​ WHERE: Just outside of New Hanover Correctional Center, Downtown

She’d gotten the call in the middle of one of her (now few and far between) afternoon baths and debated on not answering it for a moment. It’d been weeks since she’d been able to relax like this, but as the phone continued to ring she’d groaned quietly to herself and answered. She’d known the number flashing on the screen, knew who was calling her and why, so when she’d answered the phone and heard ‘This call will be recorded and monitored. I have a collect call from an inmate at New Hanover Correctional Center’ she was already climbing out of the warm water and wrapping a towel around her body. As soon as his voice was heard over the line she sighed playfully, “You have the absolute worst timin’, you know that?” She asked, assuring the man she’d be down as soon as possible to bail him out before getting dressed and climbing into her truck, bail jar money in hand as she began the trip down town while calling her mom to ask her to keep Easton for a bit longer.

“You owe me a bubble bath, wine, and some primo alone time.” She said with a smirk as soon as she saw Dean emerge from the building, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against her truck. “I’d only been in that tub, quiet and child free for ten minutes. Who’d you piss off this time, hm?” She asked, grin slowly spreading across her features, pushing herself off the truck to greet him with a hug once he was close enough. “Whoever it was looks like they got ya pretty good.”

              Down another day --- shoulder holding up the painted cinder block wall, Dean waited as his one phone call picked up. And waited and waited --- “the fuck. C’mon, don’t fail me now girl.” His muttering into the receiver earned him a smug look from the guard, quickly igniting the feeling of wanting smash someone else’s face. The blonde was always his first call now that he’d had a choice. In Dean’s youth they’d attempt to reach his useless mother and eventually got ahold of Dutch, who was usually on a bender or too daft to pick up the damn phone at the pawn shop. Likely knowing it was his son in trouble yet again. In their case, the apple fell far from the tree. Growing up he wanted absolutely nothing more to not be even a smidgen like his parents. His mother was absentee by the sheer fact that she was too crippled over her dreams of California and a better life never coming to fruition. Which was Dutch’s and Dean’s fault. Dutch was the meal ticket out that didn’t amount to jack shit. Which was Dean’s fault. And aside from Dutch trying to relive through Dean as he grew and his talent became known, well, they both kind of gave up on him before they ever really began. The first sign of the surfer being a difficult child? Yeah, they said fuck it this is too hard and pretty much bailed. Roof over his head some basic necessities aside, that is.

              “It’s somethin’ fuckin’ pride myself on.” The grin slammed onto his face when Greer finally answered could be heard in every damn relieved word he’d spoken. Still bitter, Dean even shot the dumbass guard a look. “It’s so good to hear your voice, babe.” The shine-on was mostly for the guard, asshole that thought Dean would have no one, and maybe a little to tease the blonde on the other end of the line. “So, I’m sure you’ve gathered where I’m at, and you’re a million times better than an Uber...” There was also the fact that he was kind of banned from the ride share service, but that was a story for another time. Dean nodded along and told her he’d see her soon, remembering to actually say thanks before he hung up the call.

              Dropping his chain back around his neck as he made his way out of the jail, his face lit up seeing the woman he went back to childhood with. The amazing friend that came through time and time again and for some reason never dropped his problematic ass. “I’m the one that just spent the fuckin’ night in a cell an’ I’m s’posed to be drawin’ you a bath an’ shit?” A chuckle kicked like gravel from his throat. “It’s just a lucky shot. I kinda gotta let the fuckers hit me first so I don’t get the charges.” Arms wrapped snuggly around the blonde and Dean went as far as to kiss the top of her head. Truly, what would he do without her? “I piss off every-fuckin-body though, it don’t really matter. Piece a’shit came at me though outside a’the shop ‘cause I wouldn’t sell him his shit back.” Only because he couldn’t break even for what he’d pawned it for. “So,” opening up the passenger side of her truck, he let himself in, “I let him get his shot in then he got the fuckin’ shit beat outta him.” It was more common than people thought. Not that Dean wasn’t that brawler easy to set off just anywhere; the beach, the bars... running the pawn shop was a tough role.

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ABRAMS, DANA.

Dana didn’t know Dean’s life story or what had brought him back to Wilmington. Most people told her not to bother at the pawnshop because the guy who worked behind the counter was always starting fights. However, Dana rarely ever listened to all the talk. She liked giving people the benefit of the doubt. It didn’t always leave her with the best results but at times she found people who were genuinely kind, despite what image they showed to everyone else. Dean could have easily been written off as no-good but Dana chose to focus on the positives –– like the fact that every time she came in with something new he took time out of his day to actually look into the item, even if it wasn’t worth a penny. Something like the “gold” ring she first brought to him that had been exposed as a complete fake. And a bad one too. She had always appreciated anyone who came into her path and decided on kindness over harshness. That was the good in the world and she would continue to find them like gems. 

“You realize telling me to settle down is the same thing as telling me to calm down and women hate being told to calm down. Just for future reference, otherwise, you might just piss off the wrong woman one of these days” Dana responded, tiny arms crossing over her chest as her glare deepened on the surfer. She wasn’t entirely furious, perhaps just a hint annoyed and given their friendship, hoping to enlighten him on his choice of words for next time. No doubt she would elicit the same reaction from him next week or the week after. However, it only took a second for her features to soften once more. Ignoring her rambling defense from earlier, Dana was eager to find out if the earrings had indeed been real or not. Taking a look at the tool Dean used, Dana made a note of it. After all, she was always learning and trying to pick up new skills, perhaps this would come in handy someday. However, she didn’t expect Dean to ask her to name her own price. So maybe that wasn’t exactly what he said, but truth be told, Dana had no idea what diamonds were even worth so her guess would certainly be foolish. “I don’t haggle because you’re the professional and I trust that you’re giving me what I deserve. Isn’t that how this works?” She answered with the simple shrug of his shoulder. The problem with believing everyone had good in them was that you tended to get taken advantage of a lot. Dana was hoping Dean hadn’t been doing that with all the items she had brought in the last six months. Again, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

There was still the issue of what she was looking for when it came to the earrings. Dana had to pause for a moment to really think about it. Her eyes gazed downward as she counted on her fingers trying to figure out the cost of new glasses, supplies for her class, the electric bill at her apartment, and some new sneakers for her brother’s birthday –– “Well I’m lookin’ for around eight hundred bucks?” She said as if it was a question, not sure if that was even what they were worth or if she was being too greedy. The thought of pushing a price on him that wasn’t fair made her recoil just a bit, “I will also accept something less. You know, if it happens to be worth less than that.” Instead of overthinking everything about the cost and the worth, Dana’s thoughts soon went blank with elation as she watched Dean take a hefty bite into the sandwich she brought him. So he was hungry, she noted. “Well, I’ll have you know that most New York pawnshops are a lot grimier than this one” She pointed out before continuing, “…and if you bring in too many fakes they tend to ban you, so there’s that” Not to mention they weren’t always in the safest parts of towns and Dana truly was a fish out of water in those kinds of places so she could avoid it then she would. However, arriving in Wilmington left her a little desperate and she was happy to find out that the pawnshop Dean owned was an upgrade compared to her other unpleasant experiences back in New York. “Although if you are going to believe in some of those stereotypes, please believe that our bagels are in fact better than literally anyone else and that New York girls can get a cab at any hour of the night and ––” She cut herself off since watching Dean eat so messily had made her go into full-teacher mode as she reached into the sack lunch to grab a spare napkin and throw it at his chest, “Please eat with your mouth closed and wash your hands if you’re going to be touching items from strangers.”

              The thing with Dean? If you were cool with him, he was cool with you. This didn’t mean he was someone that could be called a reactionary person because it didn’t hold up one hundred percent of the time. Since, even a cool person could rub someone the wrong way. And to many people’s surprise, the brawler was capable of walking away. He had demons in him, the anger found ways to seep out but he wasn’t randomly going around picking on people for fights. Dean didn’t bloody, bruise, and eventually callous his knuckles by being a bully. Things just usually came to a head with him because he took absolutely no shit from anyone and guys really loved to test their mettle against a man like him. Some had to do with size, a bit because of his talent on a surf board, and mostly because they looked down on him. He was trash to most people and that was a fight he never took up --- to change people’s minds. So Dana coming into his shop and being nice to him despite the things she’d no doubt heard and seen? Yeah, he wouldn’t be too quick to ruin that.

              “Nah, sorry, Dana. I mean you’re right... I should probably shut my fuckin’ mouth but, uhh...” a gravelly sounding chuckle from years smoking clawed up his throat, “if I wanted to tell ya to calm down, then I would’a done it. There’s a distinction between the two in my head.” Plus, he had only been joking around with her. There were a ton of things for people to lecture him about though, and he had to physically stop himself from yawning when she mildly went in on him, but disrespecting her wasn’t his goal. Dean hardly had manners, he swore just about every other word no matter the company, he rarely dressed appropriately, had no time management, and that was just the start of the list. Depending on who Dana could ask they could be there for days on Dean’s offenses. “I appreciate ya lookin’ out for me though but I gotta tell ya...” Another rough chuckle bounded from his throat and he gesture two fingers across his forehead. “Ain’t ya seen the Lost Cause written here? Don’t waste y’fuckin’ breath, ya know?” Broad shoulder’s shrugged, she should’ve picked up on that by now. He ain’t never been shit, he never was gonna be shit. Maybe she was too honest. Definitely too trusting. Dean set his large hands down on the edge of the counter and leaned a bit closer. He was completely perplexed by her. “Nah, that ain’t how it works. Everyone that comes through that door,” for indicative purposes, his heavy arm directed to the entrance Dana had come through a dozen or more times, “argues and tries to fight for a better deal.” It was pretty widely known, as far as he knew, that most pawners offered on average half of what any given item was worth. The people that came in were desperate usually so they eventually took it or walked away with nothing. And Dean, well, he was a tiny bit more fair, but he was also the asshole that if people pushed he’d start going lower and lower. If it went beyond that then the bat came out and he told them to get the fuck out of his shop. “I mean, you gotta fuckin’ fight for you, yeah? Ya can’t always just sit back an’ take what people give ya.” He was the last fucking person that should pass a pearl of wisdom to anyone yet he likely knew better than many on this point, at least. Dean was sure he lived freer than most.

             “Eight hundred?” Dana sounded like she wasn’t sure so Dean was leaning forward against the counter again. And that seemed all it took with some added second thoughts and she was backing off and giving him an out. Which, a man like him didn’t need. “From lookin’ these over they’re fuckin’ real...” Fourteen karat gold and pretty decent quality stones --- on average most pawn shops would offer her $200 to $400 for the earrings. Dean lifted his palm once more and stuck his eye to the loupe. She wanted $800 and he had been about to offer her $600, which would have been a little more than the going rate for top quality. Their actual value was around $1,000. Setting them down on the glass and putting the magnifier away, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched Dana for a moment. Blue eyes had to have been piercing but really, it was the same as it always went when she came in here --- she clearly needed the money for something and for whatever reason she actually gave a damn to bring him food once in a while. So, it seemed a no brainer. “Alright,” his breath suddenly heaved from his chest and his arms uncrossed to collect the paperwork they’d need to fill out, “I’ll give ya eight.” Was it pity? Absolutely not. Dean knew what struggling looked like and where the fuck would anyone be if there wasn’t a helping hand along the way? It was his secret anyway. Didn’t hurt anyone. She was the one having to give up something in order to get something and there was a part of him that had to ignore that fact in order to do business. His hand scribbled quick on the paper and then pushed it over to Dana. “Just sign, I’ll fill in the rest later.” Some amusement twisted at the corner of his mouth, listening as she spoke of the shops in New York. “This is the south and we’re a bit of a touristy fuckin’ town so I guess we’re a little nicer. I got the bat though and I got these...” A fist curled and a smokey laugh filled the space for a brief few seconds. Dean definitely dealt with his share of fuckers, he’d been arrested here nearly as much as the bar. In fact, this had been where he’d been arrested and done some real time for putting a man in the hospital. It wasn’t New York but it sure got gritty as fuck. “I’ll believe that bagel shit when ya actually bring me one to prove it.” How in the world was she going to do that? That wasn’t his problem and high time why he smirked at her because that was a losing battle right there. “What’s so fuckin’ great about ‘em anyway? Our bagels are just as fuckin’ good. Same recipes an’ processes, ya know.” Despite his argument, Dean was nodding along as she spoke, until Dana decided to toss napkins at him and give him shit about manners and etiquette. “First, yea... girls should always be taken care of. An’ second, stop fuckin’ talkin’ to me while I’m eatin’ then if ya don’t like it.” But really, he knew that was a given and had swallowed his food down before he piped up. “Nah though, ya gotta let kids get a little messy an’ build up them immunities an’ shit. Ya’ll are killin’ ‘em sanitizin’ ‘em every five damn minutes. I didn’t think ya’d come in here an’ admit you’re dirty though...” Technically, the things he handled had come from her. The earrings, the lunch...

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SHEPPARD, DANIELLE.

Alone, in the back, with a glass of wine and her book. That was where Dani had settled herself, believing that if anybody was going to bother her, it wouldn’t be all the way back here. Yeah, it had been one of those weeks yet again, as if she couldn’t catch a break. Complications both in her personal and work life; a combination she knew she should have perfected by now, yet she still couldn’t quite call herself a professional. Sometimes the balance tipped, providing her with a silver lining in her personal life, yet it would be in that exact moment that she’d receive a call informing her she was needed at the hospital as a matter of emergency. She’d never really had luck on her side, and apparently tonight was going to be just like any other night. Hoping for a little privacy, that she’d be able to escape any commotion and enjoy the soft lullaby of the background music whilst she read her book and sipped her wine, it seemed that chaos simply loved to follow her. A crash towards the front of the bar caught her attention, along with many other bystanders, as conflict erupted between a group of men. At first, all she could do was roll her eyes, anticipating its end and that she could once again find herself absorbed in the pages of her reading material. The quiet seemed to surround her again a moment later, prompting the end of the brawl, yet as she looked up, she was met by a face that was quickly fading into the light purple of bruising. “Me?” she questioned. “You’re the one that’s slipped into my booth.” Grimacing slightly, she could almost feel his pain as she eyed over his injuries. “Plus you should probably be on your way to the hospital.”

              How in the fuck did this happen? Dean hadn’t been hit in the head that many times, just a couple of punches, with one lucky catch right on the goddamn eye. He could’ve sworn the booth was empty when he dropped his heavy carcass into one side of it, then a feminine voice piped up and creased up his forehead. “The fuck?” Slipped was putting it very mildly. The brawler’s large ass hand swiped over his face and nope, there was no blood. Or at least none in danger of affecting his vision. Quickly he assessed the brunette across from him --- not only had she apparently been sitting all the way back here on her lonesome but she also had a fucking book. The hell? This was a bar, right? She looked so clean and proper and... poised. Leaning forward on the table, his forearms stretched out before him, pretty much across the table with his fingertips surrounding the edges of her open book. A wildly smug expression tucked a massive smirk where it really shouldn’t have been after he’d just thrown a few guys about and caused a commotion. Dean couldn’t help himself though when she mentioned a trip to the hospital. “Lady... you’re worried about me?” They were just peeling one, maybe two guys, off the floor in front of the bar. “It’s fine,” finger jabbing in the direction of the forming bruise that was no doubt swelling some, “this is fuckin’ nothin’ other than a god damn lucky sucker punch. Nothin’s broken, don’t worry your pretty little heart.” Reaching for her drink, Dean pulled it to his lips and finished it off for her then sent it back her way with a spinning release across the table. “So... whatcha readin’ there? Ya get lost on the way to the library, or they had a problem with ya poppin’ open a beer in there?”

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BISHOP, CAINE.

          What tipped Dean off? The stark contrast between his new, spacious and tastefully decorated digs and the shit hole he used to call home downtown? Or the fact that he’d just willingly admitted to having a ‘girls night’ at his devious little sister’s behest? A corner of Caine’s mouth twitched north. He could sit there and swear it wasn’t true, but what’d be the point? In some aspects he had changed. “Last I heard, it’s called growin’ up.” Lips split into a shit eating grin behind the rim of his beer bottle. The metal cap sailed somewhere in the direction of Dean’s head. Alright— so maybe he hadn’t changed that much. Swallowing a laugh at the same time he swigged back a gulp, Caine eyed Dean, then the bike. “Katie Lynn talked me into givin’ her some fancy frame with a picture ‘a us inside—” because apparently women had a thing for sentimental shit— “but I still had to take one for the team.” In a way so characteristically him, Caine treated his next sentence like it wasn’t a big deal. “You know what our old man’s like.” Since the day he discovered he had a long lost son to take over the family legacy, Michael Prior all but forgot he already had a daughter at home. Most days she was lucky if he remembered her name… and he’d named her after himself. “I’m practically all the family she’s got and I fucked up.” And if there was something about him that’d never change, it was his sense of loyalty to those who actually mattered. “’Sides. Wasn’t all that bad.” He flashed a hand, the chipped remnants of lime green polish still on display. “Found out I’m most definitely a spring.”

              “Glitter an’ that shit on your fingers is growin’ up?” Brow hooked into his forehead and finger waved around at whatever the fuck that mess on the tips of his friend’s hand. “Guess I’m stayin’ an immature piece a’shit forever then.” Not that Dean hadn’t picked up on some real progress in Caine’s life, the man was certainly living a lot better than he had been before Shay. The evidence was the place he now called home, a place that pretty much begged him to take off his shoes (had he been wearing any) and wipe his feet before coming in. It was more than that though, there was something calmer about him --- maybe that was the growing up part. Dean let the cap ping him in the head and as payback yanked something from the guts of the metal hog he had a hand into. It wasn’t anything serious but he’d let his friend panic for a second. “Look, I get it. Her dad’s been a piece a’shit to her an’ ya had some shit on your plate but next thing ya know your feet are gonna be soakin’ in water, bro.” The visions that clouded the surfers mind were spa days, mani pedi days, and pretty soon he’d be getting his fucking chest waxed or some shit. “Ya know it ain’t up to ya to pay for your pop’s sins, yea? An’ it’s kinda fucked up she’d take that out on ya anyway.” In a way, his own way, Dean got it. He had his own baby brother he’d sacrificed a possible good life for and he knew the need to step in and take care of where everyone fell short. “Ya didn’t actually forget, did ya?” Now, he and Micah had know each other just as long and they were cool. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t quite understanding. Then again, Dean was more stubborn than a mule and once his heels had dug in on something that was it. “She know you’re up to your fuckin’ neck?” The piece he’d yanked free was finally tossed aside and he picked up a wrench and began absently working on the motorcycle. He’d taken so many apart and cleaned them up and put the shit back together so many times in his life he could pretty much do it with his eyes closed. “Actually... green looks fuckin’ horrible on ya.”

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THOMPSON, NIKKI.

While her relationship with Dean was simple on its on, involving Oliver into things was certainly something that added another layer of complexity. Most of the time, keeping her son away from the men she was seeing went by smoothly, only because they didn’t want to know either way. The mere mention of a kid usually had them running the other way, and yet, here Dean was, having done the complete opposite. Unlike most others, he wanted to meet Oliver. Hell, lately it felt like the male had been asking more questions about him than he had about her. Not that she cared too much about him not asking about her; they weren’t that deeply acquainted, after all. Most of it was a silent agreement of providing one another with the pleasure needed, and for that, he was more than qualified for the job. A means to an end. Granted, the rugged male was charming, having no trouble in taking or doing what he wanted despite what she told him, because even if she had told him countless times since he first found out about her son, he never really seemed to agree with her idea of keeping them apart. It wasn’t really personal, but rather about the fact of her not wanting to expose Oliver to someone who wouldn’t be a constant in their lives. With Dean, that kind of thought wasn’t even present at all — or at least it never had been yet. However, it was hard to keep two people apart that felt oddly drawn to one another, because as it turned out, the two of them got along surprisingly well.

It might have actually been the first time she was with a guy (even if they were just hooking up) that was so good with kids. Or at least with Oliver specifically. Oliver wasn’t particularly shy, but most of the time it was like the boy could sense whether or not someone felt hesitant around him — and that certainly wasn’t the case with Dean. While Nikki entered the room with caution in her step, Oliver was eating up every word of the male’s story. Granted, it was nice to see him so excited about something; being able to make the five-year-old sit still and quiet for a longer period of time was always a challenge, especially in the mornings. However, when Nikki turned to the male, it seemed like he was just as unbothered by her appearance as she would expect. Moving to stand beside him, her back to Oliver, she lowered her voice significantly by the time she spoke back up, ignoring his actual questions. “I thought we said you were going to leave before he got up. You should have woken me up.” A light frown weighed on her features, not exactly getting any lighter as she caught his wink too. Unfortunately, she didn’t allow herself to act out the way she would have normally, had Oliver not been around. The last thing she wanted was to give her son anything else that would indicate that they knew each other on another level somehow. “And I do mind, but thanks for asking.” She countered with then, throwing a glance back over her shoulder to force a smile towards Oliver, brushing past Dean and making sure to shove a fist into his side in passing — not hard, but surely enough to make a statement. Rolling her eyes at him, she never commented back on his words, instead doing as requested and going to grab a few plates for them. In all honesty, Nikki didn’t mind his presence at all — she couldn’t even remember how long it had been since she had a male stand in her kitchen, making them breakfast. Had it even happened at all? She wasn’t sure. Maybe the biggest surprise of all was that Dean would willingly do it, and that he even could cook. Because despite her disapproving look, it did smell great, only now realizing that she was in fact starving.

Still preparing with plates and glasses as his words caught her ears, she didn’t really get the chance to reply before Oliver did so himself. “Please mommy, can we go? Dean told me the waves are huge!” Not that the five-year-old would get to experience those himself first-hand, but the knowledge of their existence still seemed to be enough to get him all worked up. “I’m sure Dean has much better things to do today—” With her words, her eyes steered towards the male, wanting to make sure that even if he didn’t, he sure as hell should be agreeing with her and telling Oliver that he did now. “But maybe some other time, alright? We have to swing by work later and take care of some things anyways, remember?” It was all a long line of excuses really — excuses for not making Dean and Oliver get too comfortable around one another. Besides, the last thing she would do was to reward the male with letting him see her in a bikini. She liked Dean, but from past experiences she also knew better than to let Oliver get too attached to someone. “I don’t want to go, I want to go surfing!” Setting down a plate before the boy, her gaze steered to Dean, giving him a look that said ‘look what you did’. Now Nikki was suddenly the bad guy, only because he couldn’t follow her rules and keep his distance from Oliver.

              When it was just sex, then it was just that and Dean never really pushed beyond those boundaries with anyone. Sleeping with the same person for a couple of months straight? Popping by whenever he wanted between her legs and those sweet ass noises she made into his ear? Yeah, it fucked with his head some. Having red trails down his back and across his shoulders was nothing new, he’d been a sleaze many times in his life. It was the pillow talk that really fucked them over. The surfer was beginning to learn about Nikki, a connection beyond the physical had begun to form and to his surprise he kind of wanted to know more. He wasn’t seeking anything from her beyond gratification, maybe some kind of unlikely friendship forming along the way but shit got a bit turned around when Dean found out Nikki was harboring a secret child. Dean had always loved kids; they were free spirited and honest as fuck, they were also fun to be around. Not that he was all that childlike but they matched his energy and the level of adventure he usually sought. The best thing about them though? Kids were generally uncomplicated. And Dean couldn’t really think of any adult relationship he had that was without a list of those. Long or short, there were always some. The thing was, in their post coital talks this side of him, this piece, never came up. Then, the brawler ran into the two of them on the street and Dean became fixated on becoming friends with Oliver. Perhaps it was curiosity into knowing their story. Maybe some resentment for the fact that no father was in the kid’s life. No matter what Nikki did, he and her son were destined to meet. It damn near seemed they were fated to become friends.

                Without a doubt Dean knew she wasn’t going to be happy about this. The problem was that he really didn’t give a shit. In a way he was pissed she kept her child a secret. He may have understood her reasons for it, and they were good points, but in a way he’d felt cheated. Nikki knew his family. Granted, she’d met his brother Carter through business with her firm representing him, but still... that was much further than anyone got. It didn’t feel like an even exchange, and also, well, a child shouldn’t be a secret. If a man couldn’t handle it then he didn’t deserve to be balls deep into her. For him, it was that fucking simple. Maybe she’d been through a lot of bullshit where guys had mistreated her, and he knew he’d never be some perfect angel either but he’d always be honest and upfront. “I was,” voice just as low and curving his spine to lower himself a little closer to her ear, “but things fuckin’ change, don’t they?” A smirk lodged itself into his expression and he went back to flipping the hocakes. If he had woken her up then none of this would’ve happened and despite not knowing Oliver would join him, that was too much of a loss now. Dean wouldn’t budge or reconsider. Fuck that. She could kick him out if she really felt that pissed about it. With a body so calloused from years of brawling, her fist into his side had no real effect but he grunted slightly nonetheless. “Better not get me riled up.” That was her only warning. Blue eyes watched though as she went ahead with his request, seemingly sucking it up and grabbing plates and whatever they needed to sit and eat together. It’d be a wildly new experience for him too and Dean hadn’t been sure of the implications when he’d gotten started, nor would it really hit him for a while. Grabbing the platter he’d found, he quickly began tossing the hocakes onto it once they were ready. Plate of back and platter of southern goodness were delivered to the table, not without Dean ruffling Oliver’s hair in passing as he returned to grab something to drink from Nikki’s fridge.

                  “Nah, I ain’t a damn thing better to do today than hang with my man here. I was tellin’ him ‘bout Carter...” The only person in his life with real meaning and someone that he would gloat about. “An’ he wants to become the next him. I fuckin’ told him, good thing your ma’s a badass publicist.” Grinning like the dope he was, Dean extended a hand for a high five from the kid. Nikki really had missed so much sleeping in. “Ah, c’mon ma, don’t be a goddamn buzzkill.” There was no way Dean was of mind to curb his language around an impressionable young boy and they’d already had at least twenty minutes together with him slinging a curse every other word. Truthfully, it was so much apart of regular language for him that Dean hadn’t even noticed. “The kid an’ I wanna surf,” waving her off, “you go to work then meet us at the beach when ya get your shit done.” It was really that simple in his mind. If Nikki would allow him in her bed, between her legs, and under the same roof as her kid --- then why the fuck would she not allow him to take Oliver to the beach? Did she think he’d let anything happen to the boy? At her look, that shit eating grin remained on his face. “Or, ya can push work off til later an’ come with us. Ya might actually have fun, ma.”

[deanstrick]

[deanstrick]

[deanstrick]

ABRAMS, DANA.

PAWN SHOP w/ @deanstrick​

Ever since the move six months ago to Wilmington, things had gotten a bit better for Dana. Did she miss the hustle and bustle of New York? Of course. But her grandparents had retired and needed a calmer place to live, not to mention at half the cost of their place in Queens. So coming with them had been an easy decision and after getting a job at the local elementary school, Dana was somewhat settling into her own new normal in town. One new normal that she didn’t quite expect was her visits to the pawnshop. She had only been in town for six months and she had stopped by over a dozen times already, even becoming quite familiar with the grumpy (but sweet) shopkeeper. 

Walking through the familiar doors, Dana headed straight for the front as she placed a pair of earrings on the tabletop, “They’re real. Go ahead and check ‘em” Dana said with a nod, perhaps her confidence in the pair of earrings her mother gave to her nearly a decade ago was misplaced but she tended to take people at their word and when her mother said she got her real diamond earrings for her college graduation, she couldn’t help but give the woman the benefit of the doubt. 

Letting Dean take a look at them himself, Dana slowly pulled a brown paper bag from her backpack and placed it on the counter in front of him, “It’s lunch. Baloney sandwich” She winced at the very thought of those poor animals that made up said sandwich. The school often gave her some lunches once in a while and she tended to give them to people she thought had a habit of forgetting to eat. Plus it was baloney and Dana had sworn off all meat products for going on eight years so it was completely useless to her. “And it’s not a bribe because those earrings are 100% real” She repeated with a smirk that seemed to light up her features.

              The contrasts between himself and the woman on the opposite side of the counter intrigued and ensnared Dean’s attention to no end. Dana was soft, polite, thoughtful --- things that he was absolutely not but the allure of someone so different was as sweet as the scent of fresh blooming flowers. Something that Dean also didn’t know shit about. He wasn’t sure if she’d like it or not but Dana had piqued his curiosity. From the dirty dozen time she’d strolled into Dutch’s Pawn he’d gleaned that she was from New York and she worked at the elementary school. From the times he’d found her parked on a bar stool he’d noted her drink of choice and that she seemed to slip into intoxication right after number three. None of that was here nor there in this given moment as Dana passed over some earrings but it went hand in hand with that little tickle in the back of his brain.

              It could’ve been that she was from somewhere else. New York was cool but it wasn’t a place he gave too much of a fuck about. If it wasn’t clear, he wasn’t exactly a city guy. Surfers didn’t live in concrete jungles. But he was just another asshole stuck in his hometown. A place where everyone knew his reputation and knew his parents too. Hell, this fucking shop had his dad’s nickname right on the fucking building. She was someone that didn’t know him, or all the horrible shit he’d done and how his rap sheet was so thick it tested the mettle of a manila folder. In she came every couple of weeks, schlepping something personal to trade for cash. At first he didn’t quite catch on, the exchanges between them were business as usual. Then she began bringing him bagged lunches and telling him stories about her students while he took care of the paperwork bullshit. He loved hearing that shit, kids lit him up and gave him something to smile about. It was the frequency and the items she was hawking that got the gears grinding in his head, so he started giving her more than what he would normally and even saved some of her things rather than turn them around and toss them onto the floor to make a buck. Part of him knew she’d likely want at least some of these things back someday.

             “Hey, settled down, alright...” Gravel kicked from his throat as he chuckled. “I believe ya.” Dean took the earrings and looked them over, he had to make a show of examining them but even if he found out somebody had lied to Dana about the studs he’d still give her something good despite the possible fugazis in his hand. “See this shit right here?” A little loupe pinched between his fingers spun in front of her before Dean put it up to his fading purple eye. “This little fucker will tell us what’s the what.” And far as he could tell, Dana was telling the truth. “What’re ya lookin’ for? How come ya never haggle with me?” Call it curiosity or him looking for a clue on how much money she needed and he could dole something out accordingly. Blue eyes diverted from her to the paper bag she’d present him with, tearing into it like a starved dog seconds after handing it over. Then she said baloney and everything halted. Dean was two inches from biting into yuck when the dreaded words hit his ears. “Aww c’mon. Ya fuckin’ serious? Ya can’t come in here playin’ with a hungry man’s heart like that. If it was a bribe, your sweet ass’d be payin’ me.” Alright, it wasn’t that extreme and some humor tucked into the corners of his mouth. What the fucking hell --- he bit into the sandwich anyway. She was nice enough to bring him something? Dean could suck it the fuck up. It wasn’t even that baloney was shit, it just reminded him of some of the ugly parts of youth. When his mom was schnockered beyond coherency and couldn’t fix anything for him to eat so he had to survive off what he could scrap together from the fridge and pantry. “I ain’t gonna play into stereotypes but ya’d think ya’d be better at this shit bein’ from NY an’ all.” Like a classless buffoon he spoke a bit with his mouthful and took another bite as he gestured over her earrings, waiting to hear what she wanted out of them.

[deanstrick]

               “Ya know what I’m thinkin’?” Even if the fucker hadn’t been standing next to a familiar brunette in line, bugging her, there was very high probability that Dean would’ve taken it upon himself to saddle up to her side anyway. But this guy was yacking Cleo’s ear off and she didn’t seem all that amused by it. In fact, the surfer noticed she was trying her best to brush the annoying sack of shit off. So, he interjected. Placing himself between her and Casanova with a hard shoulder check as he moved in, plate of food already in his large ass hand and him grubbing down. “You should order up some dessert an’ then bring all that shit to the beach with me. Ya ain’t really wantin’ hang out here where the company’s fuckin’ ugly an’ stare at a food truck, yeah?”

with: @halsteadcleo​

location: dirty dan’s food truck