Title: left my shoes and all my troubles far away
Fandom: It's Always Sunny + Stoked
Rating: T
Length: 640 words
Content notes: Sunny-typical negligence.
Author notes: I don't know why when I tried to write a surfer AU it turned into a Stoked AU/crossover. But this was fun! I might write more.
Summary: Dennis heads to Sunset Beach to bait hot surfer chicks with his huge new board. Instead, he meets a guy with stupid tattoos and almost dies.

Sunset Beach stinks of salt water – Dennis takes it in happily. It's much nicer than the Jersey Shore, with its garbage-infested shores and cholera-infested waters. This is the gift of young adult-hood: being able to decide on his own vacation spots.

He carefully carries his board over to a wide stretch of uninhabited sand, still within reach of the resort lifeguard just in case someone wants to mug him. He smiles at the thought – it's too beautiful here. This place is for pina coladas, bikinis and boardshorts. Not muggers and needles and men leering at him, inviting him under the boardwalk.

Dennis takes another deep breath of the sacred air, and blows away all of the stress (or some of it, anyway. His therapist is making half that shit up). He takes in the bright sun on his skin, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, and stakes his board in the sand. It's top of the line – but what he really cares about is that it's huge and a bright, light blue. A signpost for all the cool surfer chicks letting them know there's fresh talent.

He lies down on his beach towel, closes his eyes, and basks, touching up his tan. Subtly flexing his pecs, he can get a workout in while appearing to do nothing at all.

Suddenly, something blocks out the sun. Dennis smiles. It's a surfer girl for sure.

"Hey, beautiful. Admiring the view?"

"Yeah, bro. Sick board."

That doesn't sound right. Dennis opens his eyes, to find a man with wet slicked-back hair and stupid tattoos on his forearms leering over him.

"Thanks, man," Dennis says, brushing it off.

"You musta worked so hard to afford one of these."

Dennis nods. This guy is a little muggy. If he lets slip that his dad's credit card is paying for all of this, something could go wrong fast.

"Uh, so... What's your favorite wax?" asks the man.

"I dunno, man. I'm just trying to relax here–"

The man starts laughing at him. Dennis frowns, wondering if he could drown him without other beachgoers noticing.

"Dee was right! I can't believe it. You haven't surfed a day in your life, have you?"

"No."

"You are such a poser."

"You are the poser, you insipid man! I am a born surfer – you all need to practice because you were not made for this. I am a golden god!"

Dennis grabs his board and charges into the waves. He flops onto the board, paddling out into the water. It is natural. He is excellent, graceful, the perfect sportsman.

Quickly, he stands up. All the weight shifts to the back of the board and he topples over, the tip of the board smacking him in the head.

Everything goes black.

---

Dennis drifts near consciousness again, though he still can't really see – everything is blurry like he's been crying. A short gruff man talks.

"No, no ambulances. We can't have any more bad press after the PCP overdose. You gotta take him out to the woods. No deaths on the property."

"He's gonna die, asshole," squawks a woman. "This isn't about PR."

"Everything's about PR, honey. You'll learn that if you ever get a real job. Now lift with your back, not your legs."

"I'll carry him. I press more than this all the time," says the bro.

"No you can't! You can't even lift a bucket of mop water."

"Water's different than metal! Water's different!"

"Get him out of here before I fire you both."

Dennis floats up into the air, and something hits him in the head. His vision fills with static, and he blacks out again, feeling this time he will not wake up.