Work Text:
Heat washed over in hot waves both from the sun and from under the hood of the car, causing the shirt on Numbers’ body to become soaked in sweat. It had been a while since the man had learned how to fix anything, let alone something in a car.
Wrench was far better than he was at this, but he was currently leafing through a magazine he wasn’t really interested in and ignoring his partner’s attempts to get his attention. He’d blatantly refused to help, as he blamed Numbers for their current state; broken down in the middle of one of the hottest days of this summer.
Wrench knew the alternator would blow this morning; he wanted to replace it before they had even gotten on the road, but Numbers insisted they didn’t have the time. He told his partner to take everything with them and that Wrench could fix it later when they got to their motel. The younger man had tried to argue with Numbers that the car wouldn’t make it that far, but his partner refused to listen to a word of reason.
Now they were here, the summer burning them with its fury. There was no shade in the tiny parking lot they had managed to push the car into and Wrench closed the magazine to fan himself. This would go a lot quicker if he did it himself, but his stubbornness refused to relinquish the immature hold over him.
Had he ever shown Numbers how to replace the alternator? Wrench was pretty sure he had once, two or more years ago.
Tools sat in the driver’s seat, sprawled out and needing a good wash and polish. Wrench looked at his watch before looking back up at the hood of the car, occasionally catching his partner moving through the crack between the windshield and the hood.
Numbers wracked his brain to figure out where to even begin on this project. He was going to be sunburnt as hell at this rate and he wished Wrench would just let it fucking go. They would both suffer far worse at this rate. Numbers tried to clear his mind of all the complaints his body made and focus on the task at hand.
Did he have to unbolt the alternator first? Or distension the belt? Fuck. How the hell did Wrench expect him to fix this when he couldn’t even remember what step one even was.
Hey, asshole, Numbers came around to the window. Do I take the tension off the belt first?
Wrench stared at him, looking slightly insulted that Numbers hadn’t been hanging off his every word three years ago.
I don’t know, do you? he signed back, with a cocky face that Numbers could just punch. If he didn’t need Wrench’s help to get the car up and running, he might actually deck him in the face.
Alright then, be a little bitch, Numbers signed back and stomped back to the alternator. Leaning over the engine, Numbers was about to start the work when he heard Wrench shut the car door. The smaller hit man pulled himself up and looked at his partner. What?
Did you disconnect the negative terminal first? Wrench asked as he took a peek under the hood.
Numbers bit his lip. God fucking dammit. He hadn’t. Some of what Wrench had said came flooding back to him in that moment. If he had neglected to do that, it was possible that some of the wires would short out. No, he signed without looking at his partner.
Good fucking job, Wrench shot at his partner who furrowed his brows and began to glower down at the engine.
Since you know so goddamn much, why aren’t you out here doing it your fucking self? Numbers spat at Wrench, squaring his shoulders.
Because I told you this goddamn morning that it needed to be replaced. I told you. But would you listen? Wrench paused to watch Numbers visibly growing more irritated with each word. Apparently you think you’re goddamn Mr. Car God now. So go ahead. Fix it, Mr. Car God, Wrench gave a little snort at his partner.
Are you fucking kidding you asshole? It’s a million degrees out here. Just replace it so we can go! Stop being childish and at least help me! Numbers’ hands moved hostilely as he signed each word in anger. He wanted to get out of the soaked shirt and into a cold shower.
Leaning against the car, Wrench glanced at his sweaty, furious partner and rolled his eyes. Fuck you. Fine, but I’m not doing any manual labor, Wrench shrugged and went to the back of the car, pulling a soda out of the trunk. Numbers scowled and didn’t even bother to ask for one of the bottles of water he knew were back there. His mouth felt dry and fuzzy, but he sucked it up as he disconnected the terminal.
Wrench watched his partner for a little bit before setting his soda and the magazine he’d been reading on the roof of the car. He leaned his front against the hot door and began to read the article he’d stopped midway through. The shirt on his body lifted and Numbers felt himself being distracted by the small amount of stomach sticking out. Not even that could stop him from being pissed off, however.
That is not what I fucking meant and you know it, Numbers nearly hissed as he told his partner off.
You don’t need help with the belt, you watched me do it. It’s fucking easy, now shut up, Wrench replied with a half assed shrug and a long pull from the bottle of soda.
After ten minutes, Numbers finally poked his head out from under the hood and waved his hand to get his partner’s attention.
Wrench, Numbers demanded, and held out his hand.
The large man furrowed his own brows and looked at the outstretched hand. What was he expecting? Did he want his soda? Numbers wasn’t much of a soda drinker.
What do you want, baby? Wrench finally asked, after a minute.
Wrench, Numbers signed again, faster this time.
What? Wrench stared at his partner. Why the fuck was he just saying his name over and over?
WRENCH, Numbers repeated the same sign.
What about me? the younger man asked after a minute.
No, not you. I need a wrench, the smaller man’s eyes narrowed.Seriously? Was he seriously going to do this?
WHAT? I just asked you what you wanted. What the ever loving fuck? Wrench stared at the man in confusion as he tried to figure out what Numbers wanted.
WRENCH! Numbers threw his hands up after signing it for the fourth time. His partner was either a real fucking asshole or an idiot. Probably a little bit of both, when Numbers thought about it.
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. WHAT NUMBERS? Wrench threw his own hands up, after an equally aggressive response. Water? Help with the belt? A fucking roadside blow job? What could he possibly want?
Numbers let out the loudest groan he felt he’d ever made. “NO, ASSHOLE! SERIOUSLY?” he disappeared under the hood and then emerged on the driver’s side of the car, across from Wrench. His hand shot out into the open window and grabbed the socket wrench off of the seat without breaking eye contact. “I NEED A GODDAMN WRENCH.”
It finally dawned on Wrench and he couldn’t hold back the loudest boom of laughter that cut off his breath and turned his face bright red. A tear or two made the corners of his eyes damp as he tried to regain control of himself.
Numbers stared at him in incredulity; before he finally gave in and let a smile tug the corners of his lips up. He was still angry at Wrench, though that feeling was lessening a little. A little bit of fault began to creep up his spine. He supposed this could be his fault.
Give it to me, Wrench demanded as he walked around the car to his partner. Without waiting for a reply, the giant hit man leaned down, capturing his partner’s lips with his own. His hand reached to the tool in Numbers’ hand as the other smoothed the sweaty hair out of the smaller man’s face. Before he could take it, he felt the metal smacking his arm and he let out an affronted yelp of pain.
Despite the vague throbbing in his arm, Wrench smirked at the red tint on Numbers’ cheeks; half sun, half embarrassment.
Go sit down, I’ll get her up and running in fifteen minutes.
Fucking finally, Numbers sighed in exasperation, relief, and gratitude.
If you didn’t utterly destroy it that is, Wrench signed with a smirk before turning his back on his partner.
Numbers eyed the tools in the driver’s seat for a minute, trying to ignore that automatic question that popped into his head; which tool would hurt the most to beat Wrench absolutely senseless?