wayward son.

Character name: Dean Jackson.

Age: 36.

Gender identification: Cis Male.

Preferred pronouns: He/Him.

Residential area: Marpole.

Occupation: Firefighter.

Length of time in Vancouver: 36 years / his whole life.

tws for biography: death, fire, grief.

A head’s up. The offer is generous in comparison to what little thought she gave to him years ago, only to show up on her sanctuary doorstep. Then again, from what she can scramble from memory, Dean’s a generous person. 

He’s also someone that’s very hard to forget.

“I would say it’s inevitable,” she corrects, “since I own it.”

Maeve takes a pause to size him up, crossing her arms over her chest. “…but then again, I guess I don’t have to tell you that. If there’s a chance you didn’t know, I can always waive the submission fee if you want your money back. I’d understand.”

“Course y’own it.” Dean says after a moment, having operated on the assumption that she was a trainer there. Owner made more sense the more he thought about it. Even with how things had gone between them, he had few doubts that she was going places. 

( The only thing that had been unexpected was that he hadn’t been given the chance to stick around and see it. ) 

open starter.   located anywhere. 

          @vancitystarters​​

          HIS CELL PHONE NOTES ARE  pulled up on his phone ,   wrinkled brows looking in confusion as a shopping basket filled with miscellaneous items is held in his hand.   if it weren’t obvious by the plethora of feminine products surrounding an energy drink,  he wasn’t just shopping for himself.        “  is matte lipstick  -,  ”     hopeless,  he begins to speak to the person closest to him,     “  that’s,   that’s like nude lipstick right ?   or is that a purple ?  ”

--

The other man may as well have had ten heads for how Dean looked at him, as perplexed by the question as it seemed the asker was. It must have been a good one to ask, because he has no concrete answer for him. 

starter for @deanjacksons​ at his place in the afternoon

Jordan was on his couch eating his crackers when he came back home. It was the beauty of having taken his house key and gone to the store to duplicate it a few months back. His place was practically her own or it felt like it so she deemed it as such. “Took you long enough,” she tells him as if he was meant to know she was waiting for him. “Gotta talk to you about some things so you may want to grab a chicken leg I brought. It tastes better 

than it looks. Put your feet up, grab me a beer.”

-- 

This is always the most terrifying hello I can imagine.” Dean informs her once the surprise of finding her there wore off. The fact it was still a surprise made him the dumbass in the scenario -- of course it was Jordan doing some light trespassing. That was very Jordan of her. 

He drops the gym bag he toted to and from work with him in his hallway before he joined her in the living room, making a beeline for the chicken she mentioned to grab the crispiest looking piece so he could seat himself next to her and brace for whatever the hell was about to leave her mouth. 

“Yeah, you’re right, you’ve tooooooootally been skipping leg day,” Rose nods, angling her head so that she can blatantly leer at Dean’s form. She appreciated the way he looked in clothes just was much as she enjoyed how he looked out of him – which was definitely saying something. 

“You do got the ass for them jeans though, give us a spin,” she teases, nudging his shoulder to prod him.

When he steps back and asks for explanation she lets out an exasperated sigh and puts her hands on her hips. 

“I’m zombie Julia Child. Please tell me I am not going to have to explain who Julia Child is.”

Rose didn’t have to ask him twice -- seemed to be a recurring theme, if he were to let himself think about that sort of thing -- and with arms outstretched he does a deliberate spin so she can admire him and his half-assed attempt at a costume fully. 

“If you got anymore compliments for me, by all means, keep hurling them my way.” 

Facing her again, he looks her over with renewed interest now he knows what she’s going for, and the execution was flawlessly done. 

He looked over at them for a moment and looked down at himself. “What this walmart thing I got does not scream qualify that you cant tell what I am?” he chuckled a moment “I almost did but I didn’t want to get my uniform dirty” he tossed some hey that was stuck on his pants leg already.  He chucked a moment “but you pull it off good” he smiled “I almost wasn’t going to dressed up just find a shirt that had ghost or something” he shook his head. “but i am prince Eric… my friend said I have the hair for it?” he said as he had his hair in that classic style with his curls out .  “Cowboy is another classic look but not as popular as it used to be” like you could really do it out of your closet in most cases if anything you just had to get the hat to be all set. 

Dean clicks his fingers loudly as Tyler reveals what he was. That was it, that was the one. Now he was looking at him with full verification of what he was going for, it made total sense. 

“You definitely got the hair for it. There’s something real princely about ya.” Granted, it was decades since he seen the source material of what the other was going for, but it was Disney so he imagines he could have guessed where the story went by virtue of knowing the formula. 

CITY BREW PUB w/ @vancitystarters​

“Chocolate tequila? They really will make anything, won’t they?”

Jordan: love you too.

Jordan: Be ultra-cool, protect your tool. If you can't shield your rocket, leave it in your pocket. Don't be a joker, wrap your poker.

Jordan: Should I keep going?

Jordan: Sounds like good ice breaker to me. You're welcome.

Jordan: How about you? Are you being...safe?

Dean: You are the worst, as always.

for: @deanjacksons​ where: transcend gym

Maeve can count on one hand for the amount of times she’s been caught off guard. Rounding the corner of her office to find herself standing in front of a ghost is one of them — and she’ll play ignorant, just as she always does, until she can’t any longer.

“…hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear the door. Could I help you with something?”

“I’m not all that sure.” That, at least, is the truth. With a gym bag hanging from a strap on his right shoulder, Dean had been forced to switch up gyms after a fire had (ironically) put his regular base out of commission for the new couple of months. That left his nearest option being Transcend, which he actively avoiding joining in the past for avoiding the run in he had decided to orchestrate. 

“I just signed up for here, which means there’s a higher than usual likelihood that we’ll run into each other and I wanted to give you a heads up on that.”

Jordan: No.

Jordan: Did you find the industrial box of condoms i put in your car? I shoved some in all your jackets, too. 😌

Dean: 😑

Sanem was almost sure that Dean would have some remarks to make about the costume she was in but instead of any teasing, she got a rather sweet comment from him which had her grinning back. “Look at you, being all supportive and sweet to me. But it’s true, he’s actually the mastermind behind this costume,” she grinned as she gestured to the large donut she was wearing. “We are happy…things are…they’re going good.” She told Dean earnestly before taking a sip from whatever the drink of the night was before looking back at her pseudo older brother. “What about you? How are you doing? I feel like we have a lot to unpack…but this isn’t the place so we’ll keep it light…ish.” 

“The hell you mean? I’m always supportive and sweet.” Only one of those was true, though he tried as well enough as he could to embody the latter when it was Sanem. 

“Funny guy.” He compliments, and that’s a trait he appreciated because it wasn’t one he particularly embodies himself. When the conversation shifts, he tenses involuntarily a moment, recalling the cruise when he was sharing a less than pleasant conversation with the oldest Sayar sister about this very situation. 

WHO: @deanjacksons WHERE: Horror Night in the Park

There wasn’t much about the bubbly chef that surprised people, except her love for all things Halloween and scary. She’d probably seen every horror movie ever made at one point or another with absolutely no way for her to pick a favorite. She loved the jump scares, the gore, the adrenaline. So when she heard there was going to be a classic Halloween movies marathon in the park she had to go. If not for the movies then for the promise of themed drinks and the various food trucks. “I don’t know how they expect anyone to choose.” She said with an exaggerated sigh as she looked over to the man next to her. “I mean, The Poisoned Apple? Beetlejuice? Witches’ Brew? The Great Pumpkin Marg? If I ask for one of each I’ll look like an alcoholic… and I don’t have enough hands. What are you getting? Maybe we can divide and conquer.” 

Dean laughs at her concern, though it wasn’t much of a shared sentiment. He cared little for what anyone thought of him on a good day, less so about some folks tending bar that he might never see again. Still, there probably was something to be said about pacing himself. 

( Plus, not drinking alone was always a bonus. ) 

“If you want to tag team this, I’ll get the Poisoned Apple and the Witches Brew, you get the other two and then we’ll look like real respectable members of society before we go pass them back and forth to each other like a couple of degenerates if you want.” 

who: @deanjacksons​

when: october 31st

where: samhain festival at sully’s

“Figured you could use one of these.” Her peace offering comes in the form of a drink this time as opposed to a sonogram dropped in his lap. “It’s soda with a spooky twist. Not sure what that means but, sounded interesting. How, um, — how are you, having fun?”

“Is the spooky twist tequila? I hope it’s tequila.” He tells her, accepting the drink from her and taking a sip of it. Either his pallet was woefully unsophisticated, or the twist he was tasting was just soda on soda. Had it been before, had it been in NYC, that was when he would have gotten her to try it for him to confirm but they were miles away from that currently. 

Moving his hand to the bar top, he rests his palm on the edge of it as he keeps the drink held in the other, unsure of how to answer such a simple question when everything felt so damn complicated. 

DEAN. CABIN IN THE WOODS

@deanjacksons​

…

Isla hadn’t seen very much of Dean since the cruise; her entire life had been flipped further out of whack after Warren tried to hold her dog hostage as a way to attempt to get her back. She’d lost her house that night, most of her things were left behind, only what she could carry in a small bag, and Nimah had gone with her that night. But more than just that had been the revelation that her mother had stolen her letters. Years and years of suffering that maybe could have at least had closure had Manon Chastain not poked her nose where it had not belonged. Isla was unsure she could handle much more hidden truths coming to light. There was no hesitation in jumping on a Cabin in the woods far away from all her problems. A night alone to collect her thoughts, to indulge in a bit of the spirit of Halloween. 

She’d missed the afternoon hike in favor of pampering herself and only left her cabin after the sun had gone down and she could smell the fire beckoning her out. S'mores and ghost stories a meal around the fire, Isla couldn’t imagine anything better. However, the sight of Dean nearly caused her to trip, thrown off, not realizing he’d be here with the news of his unborn child still unspoken between them Isla nearly turned around, unsure if she could face him if he still wasn’t going to tell her. Instead, she steadied the thundering against her chest. She sat beside him, her shoulder bumping his in greeting, “Did I miss scary stories?” She asked in a mock haunting whisper as she reached over him to pluck a marshmallow from a nearby bag. Spearing the treat, Isla held it out over the fire, watching it burn instead of looking at his face, “I feel like I’ve not seen you since the cruise.” Isla said as she pulled a burnt-beyond-repair marshamallow from the fire still blazing, “Think it’s edible?” She asked blowing out the gooey fire ball with a frown.

“That’s cause you haven’t,” Dean says, a half smile on his face when her shoulder connects with his own. It was only half intent that had caused that, with the other half being due to how much he had worked just to even manage to nab that evening and a handful of others off. Halloween around Vancouver was something he observed from the station or the rig rather than actually getting to enjoy, but he figured he would do it differently that year. 

( Before everything was different. ) 

“Jesus, can you be careful with that,” He chides, his hand moving through the air and over hers protectively, using the light hold to force the withdraw of the marshmallow spike before it disintegrated. Firefighters and untamed flames -- never a great combination. Then again, he would have said the same about his hand holding hers, which was why his retreat was as imminent as his intrusion. 

“Edible, sure. Tasty? Not a chance.” He fans the air beside her marshmallow then, like that might aid in cooling down what he’s certain was molten at that moment. 

“You didn’t technically miss the scary stories, by the way,” He informs, circling back to her original question as he reaches for the cowboy hat on his head to remove it, holding it up a second before he puts it on her without much thought. 

“Scariest story I’ve heard all night was that guy over there dressed as Hellraiser talking about going to a furry convention. If you don’t know what that is, I didn’t either until twenty minutes ago, and now I can’t go back.” 

It was in the running for the most haunting thing he had heard on any Halloween, but only time would tell if it was to be beat before this currently Halloween passed. 

starter for: @deanjacksons​

location: fall harvest festival

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me – you dressed as your favorite position?”

“Think I’d have needed a skirt for that,” Dean notes, looking down at where he had opted for a pair of jeans instead, his costume less cowgirl and more cowboy. It’s exactly the kind of comment he expected from Rose by then, having learned fast that she had quite the mouth on her, which invited a whole other line of thinking that he knew he needed to banish. “And I haven’t got the gams for it.” 

He takes a step back to check out her costume more pointedly, it seemed familiar and it escaped him all at once, though the zombie aspect was hard to miss.