Chapter Text
The oil was starting to get underneath his fingernails, and Jean gritted his teeth. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but he was going to smell like gasoline anyways, so what's the big deal about having black fingers? His mother was going to be disgusted though. Jacklyn Kirstein may be running this grubby business, but she refused to go anywhere near the actual garage. She much preferred to stay in the office area, and let Jean and the other employees handle the dirty work.
Jean rubbed his wrist against his forehead, before lying back down on the creeper and rolling himself under his customer's Buick. He looked up into the interior and frowned. "Lady," he called out. He heard the shuffling of heels and a sniffle, and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Realizing she couldn't see him though, he complied and gave the vehicle above him a sassy stare. "Your motor is a mess. Your center pin is loose, because the pin of your center pin is loose, and your feedback lever is rusted so badly, it's crusting into my eyes. I'm not entirely sure how you even got this car to my shop, because it should have been falling apart within twenty feet of you driving it."
"Oh, dear," he heard another sniffle. How god damn typical. "My husband's going to be so upset with me. He's been gone for a while, you see, business trip-"
"Right, of course," Jean interrupted, rolling back out and sitting up, arching his back and closing his eyes. Upon opening them, a woman with blonde hair and blinding red lips was staring down at him. He flinched back in surprise.
"You can fix it, can't you?" She practically shouted at him. Jesus, why was she standing so close to him? "You're the best in town!"
"Ma'am, I'm the only one in town." Jean stood up, and pointed to the door leading to the main lobby area, leading to his mother. "Why don't you go in there and repeat what I told you to my boss at the counter. She'll figure everything out with you. I can't start repairing your car until all the contracts are filled out."
Jean Kirstein is nineteen years old, and had been surround by cars for longer than that. His father had met his mother at a car showing down in the valley, and admired her from a far as she tossed between a 1967 Impala and a 1980 Chevy. He had fallen in love with her right then and there, because a woman who appreciated cars was the woman for him. His mother and father bought the enormous building on the east side of Trost, and turned it into a repair shop, naming it "City-Bound", while his mother was three months pregnant with Jean. Business had been at a constant, controlled level. Never enough to brag about, but never less than they needed. Jacklyn would stay in the office and handle all the boring paper work, because even though she loved a classy vehicle she couldn't stand the smell of black oil. His father spent all day in the garage, always under some sort of damaged car. As soon as he was allowed, Jean entered the door to the garage and then had to be dragged out. He spent countless afternoons and evenings with his father, watching and listening as he dissected and repaired car after car after car. Often he would help him, if handing over the crank when asked was considered helping, but it was more than little four year old Jean could ask for.
His father was struck down in his prime by a mugger with a handgun, looking only for the paper in his wallet, but a single shot to the head was all it took for Jean and Jacklyn's world to come crashing down. Jean had been twelve at the time, and didn't shed a tear, but instead broke his hand whilst punching his bedroom wall in frustration. He was more engulfed in anger, not angst, get it right, because god dammit it wasn't fair.
Over time though, the death of his father settled down comfortably on his shoulders, and he was able to stand up straight without picturing his father standing next to him, a foot taller, a foot stronger. In the single picture Jacklyn kept tucked inside her bedside table, Matthew Kirstein was smiling down at his two-year-old son, pride shining across his face. Jean went to great lengths to avoid that photo, but often caught his mother looking at it with wet eyes when she thought no one was watching.
After his father's death, Jackyln took hold of City-Bound with her own two hands. She allowed only her closest friend, a man by the name of Erwin Smith, to help her stay steady as she balanced the company and her growing son. Jean officially entered the work area as a paid employee after middle school, repairing his first car on his own at fourteen. He was given a forty-dollar tip, and gave it back to the woman in confusion. Fixing cars had always been a hobby to him, not a job. His love for vehicles was incredible, and other workers had no problem letting Jean repair cars assigned to them, knowing he'd get it done faster and better. Besides, any tip he received always went back to the customer, no matter how well he'd repaired the car, no matter how smooth it ran after he'd gotten his hands dirty fixing it. Money didn't matter to Jean. He never felt more at home than he did lying on a creeper, the smell of gasoline filling his nostrils.
An hour before his lunch break started, Door #5 started to open.
"What the hell...?" Jean mumbled. He stood from his crouched position next to the wheel of a bright yellow pickup truck. He looked around. Connie was the only other employee on duty, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jean realized Door #1 and #2 were open, and #3 and #4 were not. Jean and Connie were supposed to be told when a new car was coming into the garage, so that they could open the next available door in preparation. Why was the last door being opened?
"HEY!" Jean yelled, hoping to be heard over the roar of metal. "HEY!"
The door stopped, only about five feet off the ground. Jean dropped the lever he'd been using, and started making his way over. Halfway there, a familiar brown head popped out from underneath the door, and the rest of the body started sliding through. It was wearing the same dark blue t-shirt Jean had on, but cleaner, as it hadn’t spent all morning underneath the interior of a Mercedes (like Jean had). As the body worked its way through the opening, green-y blue eyes looked up at Jean. He groaned.
"Yeager!" Jean spat, now stomping over to his co-worker. "Why don't you ever use the fucking door?" Once Eren was completely in the garage, though he still lied on the dusty floor, Jean smacked the control button on the wall, turning the arrow to the down position. Door #5 started to close. After it was shut, Jean tapped his foot on the floor near the head of Eren Yeager, the most difficult child Jean had ever been forced to encounter. It wasn't fair to call him a child, considering he was two months older than Jean, but his attitude and overall personality made it difficult to address him as anything but.
"You know I always like to make an entrance, Jean." Eren said, saluting him from his place on the ground. Slowly, he started to get up. Jean waited patiently, and once Eren stood up straight, giving him a moment to brush himself off slightly, he swatted the side of Eren’s brunette head.
"What the hell?" Eren yelped, reaching over to hit Jean back, but he was the slower of the two. Jean was already out of reach and making his way back to his truck. Eren jogged after him.
"You're forty-five minutes late, asshole." Jean said.
Eren nodded. "Mikasa." Eren said simply, staring at the floor. Jean was still frowning, but he nodded back.
Without looking at his friend, he pointed to the red Camry seated in the Door #2 slot. "That was Connie’s, but I think he's gone to lunch. The information's all there." Eren picked up the clipboard hanging off the car lift operator. He scanned it over, before making a grim face and reaching into the tool set to get to work. Jean watched Eren for a second longer before turning back to his own car. Or truck.
Eren Yeager had started working for City-Bound two years ago, when Erwin walked into the lobby with him by the neck, complaining about the kid living in his apartment complex. He begged Jacklyn to give him a job, saying that if Eren had something to put his mind to, he'd stopped being such a rambunctious teenager.
"He'll get his act together, I swear. Jack, please." Jean had seen pure desperation in Erwin's eyes. His mother complied.
Seeing as he and Eren were pretty much the same age, his mother and almost everyone else assumed Jean and the new employee would get only fabulously. They were the farthest thing from right. Jean and Eren hated each other from the start. Jean accused Eren of not knowing anything about cars, and claiming that he didn't know what he was doing. He was going to bankrupt them, Jean was sure of it. And Eren just didn't like the fact that Jean was a foot taller than him and the son of his boss, because that obviously gave him special privileges. They argued constantly, and though they tried to keep it out of the ear and eye of customers, sometimes their stubbornness got the better of them, and City-Bound heard numerous complaints from angered clients. Seeing as City- Bound was the only car repair shop in the city of Trost, it wasn’t like they lost valuable customers, but the threats were menacing and struck cords. Jacklyn had half a mind to fire Eren and ground Jean for a whole year, despite her promise to Erwin. She did not like this new threat to her company and gave both boys the benefit of her thinking. They had sat there on two chairs in the lobby after hours, wincing at each other as Jean's mother paced in front of them and screamed. But when she demanded that Eren give her a reason as to why the hell she should let him keep his job, Eren's barrier suffered a crack.
"My sister is sick. Cancer, and I need this income to help pay for her medical bills." He looked up at Jacklyn with a softness in his eyes that Jean didn’t know he was capable of, and had to look away. "Please don't fire me. I'll stop fighting with Jean. Don't fire me."
So she didn't. That was the day all of Jean's tips stopped going back to his customers, and instead went in Eren's pocket. The day he swallowed his anger and settled for glaring at Eren when he pissed him off instead of shouting. The day he dared to call Eren a friend. Jean had never been good at that kind of stuff, neither was Eren, so they were pretty much the best they were gonna do. And that was that.
Apparently, Eren and Mikasa's parents passed away a few years ago, right before Mikasa got sick. They didn't have a lot of money to pass on to their kids, so Eren had been given the sole responsibility of taking care of Mikasa and still make it through high school while paying rent all by himself and afford a hospital room for his dying sister. About a year ago, Mikasa had recovered immensely well. She'd left the hospital, moved back in with Eren and even got a job to help with income and the piling bills. But then she dropped down again, and was planted back on pasty white sheets. And while Eren feared he was going to be given her life expectancy, Mikasa was still fighting hard, as Eren had prayed for. Chemo was god damn expensive though.
It wasn't as if Jean pitied him, which Eren was thankful for. Jean had lost a dad, Eren was losing a sister, nobody was truly happy with the way their life was going. But Jean had his mother, had his job, and kind of had a friend. He was okay with settling with that.
"I heard Dita quit," Eren said then, his voice muffled by the noise of his car lift. Jean waited until the garage was quiet again.
"Yeah, yesterday afternoon. He handed in a two week resignation on Monday, but then told us he was leaving town for good." Jean shook his head. "We haven't had time to find someone to fill his slot." It was quiet for a moment; the only sounds the constant clatter of metal and rumble of a motor.
"I might know someone." Eren said finally.
Jean didn't reply for a moment, focused solely on replacing the disk on the wheel he was working on. He grunted with effort, bracing himself on the tire as he pressed down with all his weight. After the task was completed, he wiped his forehead for the tenth time that morning and stood to face Eren. "I'm not even sure if Mom wants to hire someone. She might just jack up our hours." Eren's eyes widened, and he suddenly looked torn. Jean read his mind; because now he was thinking the same thing he and his mother had discussed the night before. Eren could either help out a friend, or earn more money for Mikasa. Jean tried to help him out, because everyone is selfish for someone else. Jean was selfish for his mother, and Eren was selfish for his sister. They were their only options.
"I don't think we need someone new." He spoke firmly, but avoided Eren's cautious gaze. "We've got Mike and Sasha, and Erwin likes to help out in the garage without pay. Hiring someone new might just be a waste of time." He looked up then, hoping that Eren looked more relived than upset. Eren nodded.
"It's not really that." Jean waited. "He's failing his shop class in school, and he was kinda hoping he could come help out, or even just watch things around here so he might understand cars better. So he might not fail." Jean frowned, which wasn’t hard to do. His long face made it look like he was always frustrated. He huffed softly before addressing the next disk on the left front wheel of the truck.
"Isn't shop class an elective? Like, you only take it for half the year? Does it matter if you fail those kind of classes?"
"It matters to him." Eren said softly.
Jean didn't look up, instead crouching down again. It was quiet for while then. Jean was never able to continue a conversation when he had an unfinished vehicle in front of him. His mind wandered and he would find himself trying out different theories in his head on how he could get the job done easier, but still make the car efficient, still reach the expectations of the awaiting client. He didn’t address Eren again until he’d finished replacing and waxing the disks on all four wheels. By then, Eren was lowering the car lift with the Camry perched on top, slowly getting it closer to the ground. Both of their hands were black to the wrist, and their hair stuck to their foreheads with sweat.
"Yeah, I suppose he can come.” Jean said, as they were making their way to the office to make final reports. Eren looked at him with eyes full of suspicion. He smirked. “Maybe you'll start being on time." Jean received a swift kick to the ass for that one.
They ate lunch in the small office they were supposed to write reports in, but mostly Eren and Jean used the space to take naps if business was slow for the day. Jean gobbled down both slices of his cold pizza before asking Eren who this kid was.
“I know I said yes, but if you bring in someone and suddenly all my screwdrivers are missing we’re going to have a serious problem.”
Eren grinned. “Armin’s my neighbor. He and his grandfather moved into the apartment next to ours last year. He’s a good kid.”
“And he’s that intent on not failing a class that he wants to come and shadow?” Jean questioned, diving into the pretzel bag he’d also packed for lunch.
“Apparently so. Armin’s really good in school. Never been amazing at sports, but he’s got a sturdy brain in his head.” Eren looked down. “Under that blonde mop of his,” he mumbled, but Jean ignored the last comment. “Are you sure your mom is going to be okay with it?” Jean nodded.
“Who knows? Maybe your buddy will recommend the shop to the rest of his class and we might get more customers.”
Eren scoffed. “As if we need them.”
“As if they wouldn’t be welcomed.”
The rest of the day was normal. Connie left, and Sasha filled his spot. Sasha had been working at City-Bound for six months, the most recent employee Jacklyn had hired. She had come in looking for a job after Jean had basically built her father a new motor for his Jeep Wrangler. While she was tall and beautiful and so obviously in love with Connie, she annoyed both Jean and Eren with her loud mouth and high energy. She was good with cars though, and finished both of her appointments that day with clean fingers.
Eren looked on with jealousy. Jean knew he probably was itching to leave so he could get back to his sister. He felt the familiar pang of guilt and told Eren to leave, that he could finish fixing the motor he was working on for him. Eren used to argue with him whenever Jean offered to take over his jobs, saying that he had to earn his keep, stay on his boss’s good side; but recently, he’d just nodded curtly and left. Today was no different.
Two hours later, Jacklyn was calling him. She couldn't even open the door to the garage, she was so afraid of the mess she would find. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed accept. "Mom?"
“Sweets, I’ve got dinner on the table. If you plan on eating in the garage, get your plate yourself.” He smiled. He hadn't talked to her all day.
“I’m just cleaning up. I’ll be there after I wash the floor.”
“Don’t be foolish.” Jacklyn scolded him, her voice static-y though the phone. “That oil's not coming out for twenty years. Get your ass upstairs.” She hung up before Jean could protest. He sighed, internally grateful but still feeling as though he could have gotten more done today. Then again, he felt like that every day. It was when he was about to close the last door open, Door #1, that Jean saw him.
Or really, the blur of tan skin and a lime green shirt. The wheels on the bike were moving so fast, the boy seemed to be flying down the street, elevated just slightly off the ground. He was riding down the middle of the road, and for a second Jean was sure he was about to witness an accident, that an oncoming car was going to smash into the kid. But then the fear vanished, because the boy was turning right, and heading for Jean. At first Jean was confused, but then he realized the boy was literally going to run him over if he didn’t move.
Jumping back with a yelp, he was narrowly missed as the boy raced into the garage, before spinning his bike around and staring at Jean. His forehead and arms glistened with sweat. He panted heavily, and his eyes widened like dinner plates at Jean, who was trying to gather his footing after almost being trampled.
After steadying himself, Jean targeted the boy with his eyes and shot the deadliest daggers he could muster. His heart pounded madly in his chest, and he resisted the urge to hold his hand over it as he tried catching his breath. But he only sparred himself a minute of calm breathing before beginning to shout.
“What the everloving fuck do you think you are doing?” Jean demanded as he took long, angry strides over to the mystery boy, lime green shirt darkened under the pits. His chest heaved with an adrenaline rush that Jean could relate to. His eyes grew bigger, fear written in them. Jean could feel the heat of his own tomato red face, and the boy seemed to understand that his actions had been wrong, very wrong.
“Um, well-“
“Get the fuck outta my shop!” Jean screamed. Fury dominated over every other emotion in his mind, not even thinking about what the hell the boy might want. And while Jean must have looked absolutely terrifying, the boy didn’t flinch. He put the brake down on his bike, hoped off and held his hands out.
“Wait! Wait, please, I need your help!” His brown hair flopped in his face, and he brushed it aside quickly, trying to keep his gaze on Jean.
“With what?” Jean yelled, still walking over to him, but his voice had lowered in volume. The boy took this as an invitation to continue.
“Imverysorrybutmybikeisbrokenandmybossisgonnakill—“
“Jesus fucking, slow DOWN!” The boy heaved a heavy sigh, his eyes closing in the process, and when they opened, he looked at Jean pleadingly.
“My bike’s broken. And I’ve got to deliver this in two minutes or else I’ll be fired.” He didn’t specify what exactly he had to deliver, but then Jean noticed the black backpack straps on either side of the boy’s shoulders, and gathered that it must have something to do with that. Jean was now more confused than angry. He still felt an annoyed throbbing in the back of his head, but he tried ignoring it for the sake of the poor bastard standing in front of him.
The boy was his height, maybe an inch taller. His tannish skin did little to hide the freckles scattered across the boy’s cheeks and nose. With mild interest, Jean noticed how the freckles didn’t stop there; they ran all over his arms, reaching to the back of his hands. He could be considered skinny standing next to Jean, but calling him a twig like Connie would have been out of proportion. His large brown eyes stared at Jean with too much hope in them for Jean to start yelling at him again, though he still really wanted to. He also really wanted to pick up the bike and throw it out of his garage, but he could practically feel the swat he would surely receive if his mother ever caught him completely such an act.
Realizing he hadn’t spoken for a while, and the boy was looking at Jean with an impatient but optimistic expression, Jean turned his attention to him.
"Look around dude, I fix cars, not bikes. Besides,” Jean pointed at the black bike, with curved handles like a ram and a water bottle holder in between the two bars, though it was empty at the moment. “It looks fine. You were riding it a second ago.” The boy shook his head sadly, but still held a panicked expression...somehow...how the hell did he accomplish that? Jean wondered.
“No,” he said, bending down next to his two-wheeled vehicle. Jean hesitated, before crouching down next to him. Upon closer inspection, he spotted the cause of the boy’s worries. The small chain connecting the wheels, usually located on the spinning pulley, was loose, falling off the side. The boy looked at it with a face full of sorrow. He looked absolutely deflated, as though the bike was completely damaged beyond repair. “The chain—“
“Is that all?” Jean interrupted him, not even attempting to hold back his laughter. It burst out of him in hefty spurts, and he almost toppled over. The boy's mouth dropped.
"Well, yeah!" He exclaimed. "It makes this sound and it's hard to pedal--"
"Jesus man, for someone who rides as fast as you do, you don't know how to put the chain back into place?" Jean chuckled. Reaching out, he grabbed the small chain and lifted it, placing it back into the row with the pulley. His fingers slipped with grease and the small amount of oil located on the chain. He stood, and kicked the bike stand back, before pushing down on one of the pedals. The wheels moved with ease, silent except for the soft whistle of the wheels catching wind. They didn't chunk or clang like the boy had been expecting, and suddenly his face broke out in a beaming smile.
"Thanks!" he shouted, ripping the bike away from Jean, who was so startled that he fell back a step. The boy didn't even look at Jean again as he pedaled out of the garage with lighting speed, out of Jean's sight in less than two seconds.
"Your welcome." Jean muttered to his now empty garage. He frowned, suddenly unnerved by the encounter, because he didn't even know the boy's name. Not that he was really given time. Either way, Jean hastily shut Door #1 before any more mysterious bike boys could show up.