Chapter Text
It wasn’t too late in the afternoon, only about one thirty. Right when you woke up for your shift. You stretched your arms over your head, slamming your hand to the soft humming alarm clock on the overhead shelf. Your untamed hair fell into your face, you blindly reached out for the dark curtains and opened them to see your coworkers walking back and forth from the lot to the shop.
“Y/N, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!” You groaned deep in your throat, rolling your head around. You stood to get your coffee cup, pulling your thin patchwork skirt onto your waist. “I’M COMIN’, KEEP YOUR BRITCHES ON ROACH- I’LL ONLY BE A SEC!” You powered on your mp3 and popped your earbuds in. ‘I’m a Mess’ by FRNKIero and the Patience blaring in your ears.
You kicked the door of your van open and strode to the shop, labeled with a big rusty overhead sign that read ‘Roaches Auto’. Your back slunched as you approached the employee lounge coffee pot, pouring the seven-hour-old coffee into your cup. You opened the mini-fridge, only to be met with a nearly empty peanut butter container, a jug of Kool-Aid, and two six-packs of Busch Light. On the bottom, of the shelf was the small remainder of caramel sauce and milk. Luckily, the other guys who worked here never had the same tastes as you, so anything you had wasn’t touched.
You waltzed around the station over to the appointment book. Triple checking for any clients you had scheduled for the day. You usually got customers for specific things, classic cars- like 1964 Pontaic Catalinas, or a hot-ass 1969 Chevrolet Corvette. For those babies, you’re usually told to spruce up the engine or- on a really big job, to completely rearrange the works to get it running like a modern.
Or maybe it was a 20-year-old coming from a car show and running the damn 1930 into the ground because he thought it would run the same as his Lamborghini (which he had brought in a few months earlier for crashing into a light pole).
When you first began working at Roach’s as an apprentice, you painted elaborate things on the exteriors and got paid for the owner of said car to pass it off as their own work. That was, of course, until one of Roach’s regulars, a really nice old guy named Stan, came in with his younger influencer daughter, who thought your work was ‘totally smokin’ and got you a full book for the next few months just by posting a few of the cars on her socials.
‘Maria Scandavo… Rainnie Morison…...Davin Davidport…..’ You had taken care of all those people the day before. You hummed to yourself, walking back and forth through the rows of others’ works in progress. “Aye, where’ve you been all day Fruitcake?” As you took one earbud out, you inhaled and turned around to see a mop of ginger and a giant smile peeking out of it. Knocking your shoulder into his (causing a grunt), you make your way over to his current job. “Damn Jamie, the hell did you even fix? This paint job is horrendous, I know you’re bad at best but damn.” His pink pretty lips pulled into a thin line, causing you to smile into your coffee. “For your information- I wasn’t assigned to this car for that, I gotta do some shit to the gas tank 'cause the owner’s kid put a bunch of rocks in it. The kid was here too, he jumped outta the car and ran around the shop. He almost touched one of the engines.” You took the glasses off his face to look a bit closer into the magnifying glass that showed how many there were. You cringed at the sight. “Woulda been a bad fire, do you have any precautions for it or anything?”
“The car’s off, and that’s all I really gotta do, and if anything else, I got the fire extinguisher over there.” He pointed his thumb to the wall n the other side of the hall. “Rad. If there is any fire, let me know, I wanna have first rights to your electronics.” He threw you the bird and you gave it back two-fold.
On your way back to your own station, you heard a deep, hearty Southern voice over the speakers. “Y/n, I got someone up here I’d like you ta meet, better get here fast or I’ll get cha myself”. It was an empty threat with no negative connotation to it, he just had a knack for pulling your chain.
You downed the last of your coffee as you approached both the mystery person and Roach in the middle of a conversation. “He’s one of my best guys for this kind of problem. He could make a tin can purr like one of them new robots, ya get me? He’ll be real honored to be able to serve ya, he could barely stop talking about you when he first started here- we only just got him to stop!-” You bent your head down to throw away your coffee while also taking in every last drop possible. Messy locks covering your face, you felt a large hand on your back. “Y/n, this here is our news customer, Mr-” As your eyes drifted up the body before you, your jaw dropped and time had seemingly stood still. The clicks and clanks of Monkey Wrenches tightening bolts and windshield whippers being tested were blocked away and sounded as if someone had put a thick pillow around your head. The high notes of ‘The Jetset Life’ were the only thing you could honestly register- and even those only proved to add to the long shiver that encapsulated your body. Heat went to your face, you swore you saw a bright light come and go from behind your eyes. In your chest, a rapid beat sounded off, and for a split fraction of a second, you believed you were having a heart attack, only for a tap to hit you back and you were grounded back against reality. “See? What’d I tell ya? The kids’ a fan! C’mon Y/n breathe! You can gawk at ‘im after you fix up the car!” Regaining your breath, a light and airy “Mr. Frank Iero…” came out.
His hazel eyes cracked in the corners as he smiled. His teeth were bright, just like they always said they were. “Hey, Y/n, I heard from a friend you were a damn good technician, was hoping you could take a look at my ride?”
Your mouth slowly opened and closed before you finally nodded with a “Yeah, yeah! Yeah, that's good- great! I’d be happy to Mr. Iero! Lemme just, uh, get my tools.”
When you got outside, he leaned against his ride. You could tell it was a beaut back in the day. Its red paint wasn’t completely weathered off, and while the wheels weren’t in pristine condition, it could definitely do with some of the customs you made on your day off. “1966 Chevrolet?”
“El Camino.” He smiled when he saw you approach. You squinted your eyes at the sun hanging above you, pointing at the ride before you, attempting to keep your eyes trained on just the classic instead of the legendary (in your own opinion, damn you) musician who had requested you- you, personally. Out of all the guys here, you. Not Jamie, Roach, Ernie, or Charmichael, you. It continuously occurred in your mind that he was the mind that had created the poetry that you had cried to, had laughed too in though certain days, and it caused you to feel a certain way every time you thought of it. ‘He’s just a person, just like me, it’s fine.’
“I just got it as a gift from a friend, it was sitting in her garage and she didn’t want it anymore so I went ahead and took it. The only thing is, it doesn’t run. Roach had it towed for me, he said you did a great job at fixing up older cars like this.”
“Yeah, it’s a knack or somethin’ like that, sir. I could show you some nice wheels and better-quality paint. But assuming what might be the problem with the runs, could be a fudged engine, mileage, or outdated oil. I could take out the insides, fix it up to be good as new if that’s what you’d like?”
Frank nodded, interested. “Well-”
“Though even if I could spruce it up enough to get it purrin’ like a 2020 mod, it wouldn’t be the same as itself with any add-ons- but that’s just my opinion.”
“True but-”
“You said you had this baby towed, right? And you got her from a friend- now if she’s had a bunch of owners, that’s where things can get sticky, but I can manage, I’m good with these things.” The older man simply stood there, eyes slowly blinking and a smirk reaching across his face. His somewhat graying hair went slightly in the way of his view. The smirk slowly became a slick smile, then on evolving to a light snicker. “They told me you were pretty talkative. It’s fun to actually see it- and put a name to a face. You are a little younger than I figured you would be though.” You sighed, “Yeah, people usually do. Nothin’ too bad once I show 'em how good I can handle myself in the field. Now, you know all you’d want Mr. Iero?”
“You can call me Frank, it’s cool man.” A rush of light blue went through your fingertips to the ends of your arms. It was actually becoming a conversation- a real live conversation with him. Your heart never seized its expeditious beating, though it had calmed a tad.
“And if anything, could you try to just get it running for now? And I could get a customization job later?”
“Yeah! Yeah, of course, Mr. Iero- Mr, ah…” You took a breath, “Frank.” You put your hand out to shake and he caught it with a matching grip.
The white wifebeater stuck to your back from the sweat. Even in your air-conditioned station, the constant flexing of your muscles and the heat of the cramped space under the hood of the car- as well as the tension in your mind to find anything even remotely smart to add to the conversation added to the mediocre stress plaguing your mind. Luckily, Mr. Iero- Frank had started the conversation easily. “So, Roach told me you were a big fan of the band? I saw a few of your works on Instagram, I noticed a few art pieces looked like they were taken straight from Danger Days. Gerard loved them.”
“HE SAW THEM?”
He ran his hand through his lengthy locks. “Of course, he’s the one who showed the rest of us. He was wondering if it was for decoration or show though, just ‘cus it might be a hassle to get that artwork messed up from rain or somebody…”
A loud grunt sounded from your chest when you completely loosened the last bolt hooking the radiator to the spirg. You yanked it out and placed it in its own little cubby on the wall. You smiled a chipped-tooth smile. “That’s sweet of him to think about. Yeah, it’s mostly just decor for cars that don’t run too well.” You wrangled up a newer radiator and began to wield it to the sprig- only to realize that the sprig would need buffing for you to be able to. “My plan is that for those cars, to tear out the inside and make it into a really tiny house. I’m a collector of random stuff so I have furniture and shit in a storage unit that I don’t need cuz… I don’t have a house.” You chuckled. Frank just sat and stared dumbfounded. “You don’t have a house? Damn, I’m sorry man, that shit’s tough.” You hit your head on the hood, causing Frank to lift his own hands to brace the impact. You squinted in pain, “No, no, I’m not homeless. I just live on my bus. The one outside?”
“In that?”
“Yeah, it’s a really nice place. Not my dream home, but I’m livin’ the dream! And who knows, maybe I’ll afford my double-decker in a few years' time! Til then, I’m chillin here.”
He hummed and leaned over you to see all that you were working on. You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Ever worked on a ‘66 before?” He leaned back and grunted, “No, no, just wanted to see is all- what’s that thing over there? I’ve never seen it in my Honda or anything.”
You drew in a cheap breath, “First, great job on getting foreign. For the past goddamn week, people have come in here with American models. Always recurring customers, those are the main ones who keep on coming back. It’s not annoying or anything, but it’s something you tend to note after a while.”
Frank swayed back and forth with his hips, arms crossed in front of his chest. You droned on and on for a few more moments before catching yourself tumbling over words that halfway didn’t make sense. You came up from the cramped hood to rub your neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, I- ramble a bit.” He laughed a little, bringing blood to rush to your cheeks. ‘Fuck, he thinks I’m a moron!’
“You’re good, I do it sometimes too, you seem real confident in foreign cars! You seem like you’d drop-kick the next guy to walk in with a Ford!” A grin crept up your face, resting on your cheeks. Your hands carefully massaged your neck as you wandered over the cabinet. “Those cars just suck sir.”
“There you go with that ‘Sir’ shit again! Looking at you I didn’t take you for the ‘sit-back, chill, polite’ type.”
“Was it the skirt?”
“No, more the bouncing around. You seem like you party a lot. Or at least go to concerts a lot”
“Yeah, I’ve been to a shit ton- almost too many. They’re part of the reason I moved out here, I wanted to see more bands and meet more people who like the same-ish music as me, and LA is like- Concert Capital so…”
“Who’s the last person you’ve seen?”
“I went to a small basement concert down in Chula Vista just two weeks ago. Three bands- The Saint Suicides, Marquie (pronounced Mark), and Arcania. It was a goth type one because goth clubs and stuff don’t really exist anymore, and with those places, you can be yourself and have fun. I was legit dancing like a constipated car dealer ship tube man and I got three friends from there. You should go to one sometime- well it might be kinda hard considering…”
“Yeah, but you’d have a great time.”
“What’s the last one you’d seen Mr. Ie..r….o” Lips pursed together, you slowly turned to him. His lips mirrored your own. Smiling he said, “Why’s it so hard for you just to say my name?”
You laugh, waving your hands in front of your face. “I’m sorry! I don’t even know why I keep calling you that, honestly.” “Maybe because I’ve listened to your music since I was a kid and I respect you- like a lot. And I feel like you are SO cool. I just love the way I feel with your music, and how great the things you play sound. You just always seem like such an amazing person and I’ve always wanted to meet you. And now I am and I’m in a greasy shirt at my tech job- and once again I’m rambling!” Shaky giggles erupted from your mouth, you ran a hand through your hair and lay down.
A ruined manicured hand fell to your waist. “I’m sorry.” Waves rippled through your body. I’m a mess, know?” The weight of the wrench in your hand had increased unintentionally. Frank’s eyes burned into you when you took slow clipped steps to the car.
Hands trembling, you nearly tripped up and knocked the bar holding the hood from crashing down in your head. The screeching of a chair came up to the side. Frank bent over the hood, watching how your hands drifted on autopilot, never coming to a full stop or a stutter. You talked to yourself with your mouth closed, jaw bumping up and down like a well-trained puppet.
“You’re pretty smart.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and movements stopped dead in their tracks. “Pardon?” “You really know your way around a car, and as you read.”
“Yeah, every now and again. I’m readin’ Frankenstein right now.”
You get up to grab some grease to help get a screw out. “Ever read any comics?”
You waved your hand. “Hell yeah, I mostly read Marvel growing up, and mostly the same characters.”
He hummed from across the room. “Ever read DC?” You shook your head. “DC sucks in my opinion. None of the characters are that well developed and the ones that just blow as characters in the first place- no offense of course.” He slouched into his chair further, bracing his arms onto his knees. “You’ve only watched the movies, haven’t you?”
“I mean…yeah but…” Frank slammed his hand down on the chair across from his. “EXACTLYY. IT’S NOT THE SAME! The movies suck ass, man.”
From the station across from your you hear, “THAT’S GAY!” “SO ARE YOU JAMIE- GO TO HELL!” You look back to see Frank laughing. You smile and resume your work on installing an engine. “Yeah, I guess that might be it. I outta watch some then.” You laugh a bit at each other and shoot the gun over who would win between The Hulk vs. Atrocitus.
Jamie walks into your station a few minutes later, “Hey Y/n, it’s 7. Most of us are headed home about now and Roach wants to close up.” “Early night?” “Early night.”
You hum, putting down your wrench. “We’ve been here that long?” Lifting a container over your head you reply. “Yeah, usually we stay for a lot longer, but it’s been pretty lax as of now. Most of the people working today just came to fix up things or do touch-ups, no projects or nothing, otherwise, we would have stayed open later.” You close the hood and clean your hands off on your skirt. Noticing Frank looking at the car, you put on a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, Frank. But hey, we at least got fairly ahead. I stripped all that I needed, and tomorrow I can find a newer engine that would do her better.” He looked over, almost in a daze as it seemed. “Oh, no I’m not worried about it, you’re completely fine! I was just thinking is all.” You hummed to yourself, deciding to leave the car in your station and lock it up so that you could get right back to it as soon as possible.
The key is hung in your storage cabinet. You dust off a few things as the two of you start to head out. “Mind if I ask what about?” He shook his head, then looked back at the closed garage. “I think I might want that new paint job too.” You practically vibrated in excitement, a wide toothy smile reaching across your face.
I fucking love paint jobs.
The sky wasn't exactly dark, but it was obvious it wasn't exactly a summer's day. You didn't need your jacket, as the night was warm and thriving. Smiling, you walked in cozy silence with Frank.
"Hey Fruitcake," Both you and Frank look over towards Jamie running towards you. Frank frowned a bit and started to step forward. "The fuck you just call him?" It wasn't loud enough for Jamie to hear (from how far away he still was) but just enough for you to be able to hear the malice in the threat.
You stood in front of Frank to block him from Jamie, "Yo, Frank it's fine! It's just a nickname is all." His brows furrowed, and he asked why but you gave him a small wave to signal to wait for a second.
Jamie's red hair sort of bounced in the wind. He smiled, showing the gap in the front, "Hey, some of the guys are going for a drink, you wanna come?" You mulled over it for a second before deciding why the hell not.
"Awesome, I'll wait in the car for you. Bye Mr. Iero."
He walked out towards his car, and as he did, the forced smile Frank wore slowly faded. "Anyways Frank, I guess I'll be seeing you.. maybe tomorrow? It's a Monday though so I don't know." He hummed, "Yeah I got stuff to do, but I'll probably be here on Thursday or Friday."
"Alright, Rad!" You shook your hand through your hair and laughed, Jamie honked his horn softly. You looked over and gave him the finger. "Alright Frank, I'll see you then." You gave him a fist bump and began to walk away. "Hey," You turned around, "Yeah?" He shook his head a little, "Don't let that guy walk all over you, you know? Even if it is a nickname, still, if he says anything…out of place, you know?" You smiled to yourself at the concern, it felt so sweet coming from him.
You struggled to find words for a while, wondering how to even come back from that. Finally settling on, "It's fine, Frank, he knows not to press it with me. And if it makes you too mad, I'll let you know if he ever bother me too much, okay?" He smiles at you and goes in for a hug.
It shocks you a bit, but you immediately hug right on. His brown leather jacket smells strongly of clean rust. A small hint of weed and something comforting, but without a name.
He lets you go and playfully shoves your shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay? I'll see you soon." You watch him as he hops in his car. "See you soon, Frank."
As he drives away, you walk over to Jamie's Jeep and hop in the passenger seat. You look over to Jamie's fake snoring. "Is Y/n finally in the car? It only took half a goddamn century!" You shoved him. "Fuck off Rodgers," You dreamily sighed. "I just met my childhood idol."
You sat up from your seat, realization hitting you like a freight train. "I JUST MET MY CHILDHOOD IDOL!"