Dean and Carley walked up and down the aisle of the men's section, neither of them knowing where to start. They had no idea who Dean was. They'd talked a bit about some of the interests he had, but that didn't really give them any insight to what type of style Dean might prefer. The extent of his wardrobe when he was found was a t-shirt, jeans, and boots. It was hard to relate that into specifics. Carley dug in to the first rack they stopped at, making suggestions.
"What about this?" She held up a red polo shirt.
Dean pursed his lips and considered for a minute and then shook his head. He continued to push through the clothes on the rack, nothing really striking him.
Carley was afraid that this shopping trip might get really difficult. She didn't want him to feel lost. The clothes didn't have to define him and she wanted to make sure Dean knew that.
"What if we pick a bunch of stuff out and you just go try it on? Maybe, it'll be easier that way, you'll know if you don't like something for sure."
"Okay," Dean agreed. What could that hurt?
"Awesome!" Carley stated excitedly, "It'll be like a mini fashion show."
Dean's eyes widened "Don't get any ideas, babe. I'm not your life size ken doll."
"Relax. It's just clothes, they aren't going to bite you or anything. If you don't like it we don't have to get it," she smiled and bit her lip as Dean riffled through another rack of clothes, his eyes still on her, his eyes still on her lips.
He couldn't image being responsible for Carley getting hurt. He knew he couldn't involve her in anything, that even staying with her in that big rotting house might be a mistake. The only thing that could make it worse was sex. He had to shake it off, find a way to think of her as a sister. Maybe lying to himself wouldn't be as hard as he thought.
"I was thinking," Carley stated after a bit of silence, "Well, never mind I guess."
She'd been thinking about their options during the drive into town. She hadn't wanted to say anything when they'd gotten there. Dean had looked so intense, like something had jogged his memory. When she saw the realization on his face, she had been hopeful. She'd automatically recoiled when she started to share her idea. Why was that? Had Cameron emotionally damaged her to the extent that she couldn't even think for herself? Sure she had no problem stating the obvious or having a conversation in general but it seemed like she wasn't capable of having an original thought, not without consequences anyway.
Dean thought her statement was a little weird. What the hell had her so nervous? It wasn't the edgy sexual tension he'd brought out in her when they were in the kitchen. This was different. Dean was starting to notice that she worked out any thought she had over and over in her head until she was positive it was the right decision.
"What?" He looked up from the rack, encouraging her. Maybe Carley needed a little push, a little support. Whenever she did something like that, pause and rethink, he couldn't help but wonder about her life before. What had Carley's life been like before she moved into that big house? Something had happened to her and whether that was an incident or a person, well he was determined to find out.
"Maybe, a good place to start with our search is to check the local records, at the hospital. We could check the birth records or something," Carley started gathering clothes without focusing.
It was difficult for her to speak up. She had constant pit of fear and nervousness in the deep dark shadow of her heart, it seemed to just sit and ache and brew bigger and bigger. She'd promised herself this would be a new start. She was supposed to be living her own life now, not the one her parents and Cameron had pushed on her. She'd managed to sneak out of the life they were forcing on her. At first she thought it was important to listen and do what they told her, that it was for her benefit. It took her a long time to start to realize that abuse shouldn't be a part of that. When she finally spoke up about it, when her parents decided to ignore her, she'd found a way to get out.
Dean thought for a moment as he handed Carley a few shirts, "I think they would have mentioned it when I was there. You know, when I was recovering from getting hit by a car," Dean smiled at her.
She was the only person he knew, the only person he'd ever spent time with. It seemed the more time he spent with her, the more he was inclined to make sarcastic quips and jokes.
Carley tried to ignore his comment. He could be sarcastic and infuriating, a serious pain in the ass. She scowled and pushed the hangers on the rack, a little too hard.
Dean laughed, loudly. He liked getting under her skin. Maybe it was the way he felt about her. The way he felt when she bit her lip. The need he had to touch her when she made a certain face, the desire that rose inside of him when she looked at him. Every scowl or forehead wrinkle only seem to increase his curiosity.
They'd managed to agree on a pile of clothes, even though there a few items Carley had thrown in that he knew he wouldn't even bother trying on.
When Dean was finally in the dressing room he selected the least embarrassing article, it was a simple pair of jeans with wash stains and a polo shirt. He liked the jeans, but the polo wasn't something he couldn't see himself wearing. "Come on Dean, let me see something," Carley whined.
"Hell no, I'm not wearing this."
"Did you try it on at least?" she asked.
"Yeah," he grunted while looking in the mirror. "Son of a bitch."
"Let me see, please?" She asked sincerely.
Dean couldn't resist her soft, heartfelt pleading, but so help her if she laughed.
"Don't laugh," he stated simply.
"I would never," Carley made a mock promise over her heat and crossed her fingers, when he peeked out through the door.
He shook his head and stepped out of the dressing room. When she saw his expression she threw a hand to her mouth, covering up the laugh bubbling inside her. She could tell he was worried about his appearance. She didn't think she'd met anyone else that had been that self-conscious. She'd always felt like the clothes you wore made you, spoke a thousand words about who was under them. She'd spent a considerable amount of time analyzing people and their wardrobe. Maybe, Dean felt the same and he just didn't know it.
Carley kept her hand cupped over her mouth, he was wearing cargo shorts and polo tee. He didn't look bad, in fact he looked amazing, sweet and warm and mouth watering. His face said otherwise and she knew she'd never see him in an outfit like this again, so she took it all in, took him all in.
"You said you wouldn't laugh," his right eyebrow crinkled up when he saw her expression.
"I'm not laughing," she smiled. "I think you look great."
"Damnit, Carley," his whine of protest wasn't much of a whine, it was deep and stern. He stepped back into the dressing room. Her heart gave a little jump when he said her name, even if he was annoyed.
"I'm sorry," she laughed between words, "Just show me what you liked and it'll be easier to help you."
"Well, I don't like shorts. I'm never wearing a pair of god damn shorts again," Dean stated matter-of-factly. He'd selected a few items between what they picked and showed her. Among the pile was an assortment of t-shirts, jeans, button ups and a few jackets that he'd tried on. Carley and Dean rummaged through the few pieces and made more selections based on what he'd liked.
Dean was surprised. After he'd made it clear what he didn't like it seemed to inspire Carley. All the things she began to suggest didn't seem half bad. A few plain t-shirts, a few vintage band shirts, an assortment of jeans and plaid button ups, they'd even managed to find a pair of work boots in decent condition. He'd been happy with most of the decisions they'd made on his wardrobe, now that Carley was aware of what he preferred. But when he saw her rummaging through the leather section, his interest was really peeked.
They sorted through the racks together, neither feeling the need to fill the silence. Carley pulled out a worn, deep brown leather jacket. Something about it, screamed Dean. It was perfect for him.
"Awesome," Dean stated when she held it out to him. He quickly pulled it off the hanger and slid into it. He unfolded the collar and pulled up at it. He turned to the mirror and concentrated on getting the collar to stand.
Carley's forehead wrinkled, confused, "Why are you doing that?"
Dean paused, "I'm not really sure." He hadn't even realized he was doing it. He dropped his arms by his side, paused, and slid them into the pockets. It felt…right. It felt perfect; it felt like he'd worn that jacket all his life.
"It looks like it was made for you," Carley said. She leaned against the wall by the mirror, setting herself directly in Dean's line of sight.
"Really?" His eyes lit up, as he glanced at her in the mirror.
Carley gave him a warm smile, "Really."
They managed to decide on a restaurant while they finished shopping. When they went to pay, Carley pulled out her credit card.
"What are you doing?"
"Paying. I said I was taking you out shopping," Carley stated simply.
"Nah, don't worry about it," he retorted. He wasn't going to let a woman pay for his things. He was sure if it had been in another situation he would do the same thing. It just wasn't right in his eyes.
"What, why?"
"Look, I have a credit card. It's in my name and everything. I think I can pay for my own clothes."
The stubborn tone that came from him was new, a different side of him. That tone said everything about how when he made up his mind, he was right, and arguing wouldn't do any good, for either parties. He threw his choices onto the counter and quickly stepped in front of her, blocking the register. Sensing it wasn't up for conversation, she didn't protest. She was sure he wouldn't back down, and maybe the fact that it was hard to stand up for herself made it worse, but Carley tried to forget about it.