Chapter Text
The rest of the ride was filled only by the rhythmic hum of the tires on the wet asphalt and the monotonous drone of the windshield wipers. Gabriel stayed quiet, afraid to say anything that might irritate the man behind the wheel again. Nico, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with the silence, focused on a road he clearly knew by heart.
About twenty minutes later, the truck slowed down and turned onto a side street, heading into a more industrial area far from the sleek modern buildings where Gabriel lived. They stopped in front of a tall iron gate with a rusted metal plate that barely read "Hülkenberg Auto." Nico pressed a small remote clipped to the sun visor, and the gate opened with a metallic groan that sounded almost like a complaint from something ancient.
Once they parked inside the main garage, reality hit Gabriel hard. If he had been expecting a clean, organized dealership-style shop like the ones his father frequented, he was very wrong. The place was pure chaos. Piles of old tires were stacked against the walls, rusted chains hung from the ceiling, and worktables were buried under mountains of tools, bolts, greasy rags, and dismantled engine parts. The floor was practically a hydrographic map of old and new oil stains. Gabriel wondered how on earth anyone managed to fix anything here without losing half the parts or dying from fumes.
Nico climbed out of the truck and worked the winch quickly, lowering Gabriel’s car and shoving it with surprising strength into a free spot beside an old Opala under a dusty tarp.
"It stays here," Nico said, wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from the back pocket of his jeans. He looked at Gabriel, who was standing in the middle of the shop, arms crossed, teeth lightly chattering from the cold. The German sighed, as if debating whether speaking was worth the effort. "You’re shaking like a leaf."
"I—I’m fine," Gabriel lied, voice cracking.
"No, you’re not. And I don’t want to be the one explaining to your father that I let his kid die of hypothermia in my garage," Nico grumbled, walking toward a solid wooden door at the back of the shop. He twisted the knob and glanced over his shoulder. "Come on. Inside. I’ll get you a real towel and maybe some coffee if you’re lucky."
Gabriel hesitated for a second, eyeing the dirty environment around him, but the cold won. He followed Nico.
But the moment he crossed the doorway, he froze, caught completely off guard. The inside of Nico’s house was a different universe. It was like stepping inside a time capsule, a man-cave with a very specific aesthetic.
The place was warm and smelled of aged wood and nicotine. The floor was dark hardwood, covered here and there with worn Persian rugs. A black leather couch sat in the living room, so soft and broken-in it looked like it could swallow whoever sat on it. But what grabbed Gabriel’s attention were the walls and shelves.
An impressive vinyl collection was meticulously organized on low racks. A vintage but well-maintained record player sat proudly in the center. Framed posters of bands — AC/DC, Scorpions, Led Zeppelin — decorated the walls, sharing space with a black electric guitar hung with a level of care that suggested it was a sacred object. On a side table, there was a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a cracked glass ashtray.
It was the ultimate old-man cave, Gabriel thought, almost smiling at how perfectly stereotypical it was, and yet, he was impressed. There was a clear sense of order here, a rustic comfort the chaotic workshop hadn’t revealed at first glance.
"Bathroom’s the second door on the right," Nico said, shrugging off his raincoat and tossing it onto a coat rack near the entrance, revealing a faded black Van Halen T-shirt underneath. He pointed down the hallway without really looking at Gabriel. "Clean towels in the cabinet."
Gabriel nodded, still taking in the place.
"Cool collection," he murmured, pointing shyly at the records.
Nico paused halfway to the kitchen, looked at the records, then at Gabriel, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah. Don’t touch anything," he said, then vanished into the kitchen.
Gabriel obeyed and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door carefully, though the swollen wood creaked anyway.
The room was exactly what he expected from the rest of the house. Not dirty enough to be concerning, but everything had that lived-in patina. The tiles, once white, now held a yellowish tint, and the grout between them was darkened by years of steam and lacking deep scrubbing. The sink had a small rust stain near the drain, and in the shower corner, a cracked bar of soap rested on a cheap plastic dish. The smell was a mix of pine cleaner, humidity, and something metallic, probably the old plumbing.
Gabriel looked at himself in the mirror, its edges chipped, revealing dark glass beneath the silver backing. He looked awful. Some curls plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his skinny chest, and deep shadows under his eyes. He sighed, opened the cabinet, and grabbed a towel. As expected, the fabric was rough, almost like sandpaper, washed a hundred times without ever meeting a drop of softener.
He took off his wet shirt, wrung it out, and used the towel to dry his torso and hair as best he could. He put the damp shirt back on — a horrible, cold, sticky sensation — and tried to tame his hair with his fingers, without success. Feeling only marginally more human, he took a deep breath and stepped out.
As he walked down the hallway, the smell of tobacco and old wood gave way to something new, fresh coffee.
Gabriel followed the smell to the kitchen, separated from the living room by a raw brick counter. The space was small and functional, with old metal cabinets that looked like they'd been salvaged from a 90s office. The sink was piled with dishes — some clearly from days ago — and on the stove, a battered moka pot hissed, releasing steam.
Nico was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, watching the black brew bubble. He looked tired, the warm kitchen light sharpening the hard lines of his face. Two mugs sat on the counter, one black and chipped at the rim, the other a promotional mug from some auto parts store.
"You didn’t have to," Gabriel said softly, stopping at the kitchen entrance, unsure if he should step in.
Nico didn’t turn right away. He switched off the stove with a sharp motion, grabbed the moka pot, and poured the dark, steaming liquid into both mugs.
"Tsk," he muttered, voice rough. He nudged the auto-parts mug toward Gabriel across the counter. "But you look like you’ll pass out if you don’t get something hot in you, so I made this shit."
He grabbed his own mug and took a long sip, black, without blinking, as if boiling-hot coffee was nothing.
"I forgot sugar. If you want it, check the cabinet up there, behind the pasta jar," he said, nodding toward it but making no move to help. "But the coffee’s strong. The way it should be."
Gabriel held the mug with both hands, grateful for the heat spreading into his freezing palms.
"Thanks, Nico. Really," he said, drinking it black so he wouldn’t have to snoop in the man’s cabinets. He took a cautious sip. It was as strong as a punch to the gut — bitter and full — but it warmed him instantly. "Have you… lived here long?"
Nico leaned back against the counter again, studying the boy with those analytical eyes as he drank.
"Long enough to know where everything is, and long enough not to want to change anything," he said plainly. Then he paused, as if debating how much more to say. "Your father would hate this place."
It didn’t sound like criticism, just a fact. Silence settled again, broken only by sips of coffee and the storm pounding outside, even louder now. Gabriel took another sip, warm but still embarrassed.
"Why do you think that?" he asked quietly. His parents really were obsessed with cleanliness and order, but he didn’t like the idea that Nico saw him as an extension of all that.
Nico gave a small humorless smile, barely a tug of the lips.
"Because he changed," the German said, setting his mug down. He finally looked at Gabriel. "Before he left, before you were born, when he only had your brother, he was different. Used to crash here for nights, when he was just a young man, trying to help me fix engines I didn’t even understand, and we’d drink warm beer and listen to music. He was the kind of guy who didn’t care about grease on his hands. Now he’s one of the suits."
A knot formed in Gabriel’s throat. He knew the version of his father he grew up with — serious, distant, obsessed with image — but the picture Nico painted felt almost mythical.
"He… he talks really well about you," Gabriel murmured, feeling like he owed his father some defense. "He said you’re one of the best mechanics he ever had and that he owed you a lot."
"Old debts," Nico replied flatly. “He paid his by helping me fix this shop years ago. You being here tonight is paying yours, your broken car. Not his."
The bluntness made Gabriel shrink a little. He glanced at his phone, 3:18 AM, and realized he couldn’t stay much longer.
"I shouldn’t keep bothering you," he said, placing the mug in the sink. "Thanks for the coffee, Nico. And for helping with the car. I’ll just… call an Uber."
Nico let out a loud, bark-like laugh, the first real sign of humor Gabriel had seen in him. It echoed through the small space, rough and teasing.
"An Uber?" Nico repeated, rolling his eyes. He pointed at the kitchen window, where water ran in sheets down the glass. A flash of lightning lit the room, revealing just how furious the storm was. The thunder that followed rattled the garage windows. "Kid, you’re in the middle of a damn monsoon, it’s three-thirty in the morning, and you’re in an industrial district. No one, absolutely no one, is driving across the city right now unless you’re willing to pay with a kidney."
Gabriel frowned, realizing he was right.
"But I can’t just stay here," he protested, looking around at the chaotic house, feeling like an intruder.
Nico shrugged and turned to rinse his mug in the pile of dishes.
"It’s fine. You stay," he said, like he was dismissing a fly. "I’m not tossing a soaked kid out to drown. The couch is clean. Big enough. You’ll manage."
Instead of heading to his bedroom like Gabriel expected, Nico paused next to him, giving him a top-to-bottom inspection, clinical and irritated, like he was checking for defects in a car part.
"You’re not sleeping in those wet clothes," he declared.
"I’ll be fine, Nico, seriously. I can just stand by the heater until—"
"Don’t start," the German cut him off, already walking down the hallway. "You’ve caused enough trouble. Get back in that bathroom and take a hot shower before you get pneumonia. I’ll see what I can find, but don’t expect miracles. You’re…" he waved a hand vaguely toward Gabriel’s narrow frame, "…very slim."
Gabriel felt his face burn at the comment, but before he could respond, Nico had already disappeared into one of the rooms, muttering about youth and lack of common sense. The door closed, then reopened seconds later. Nico emerged with an armful of clothes, all folded haphazardly. He dumped them on the kitchen counter.
"Top," Nico pointed to a faded black band shirt Gabriel didn’t recognize. "It’s old and big but comfortable. Sweatpants, should fit enough to sleep in."
Then came the most embarrassing part. Nico held up a brand-new pack of boxer briefs, still sealed. He looked at the size "S" on the label, then stared directly at Gabriel’s hips, frowning in pure technical evaluation.
Gabriel froze under the scrutiny. It wasn’t a suggestive look, just a mechanic calculating fit.
"Hmm. These’ll do," Nico muttered to himself. "The others I have are large, they’d look ridiculous on you. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Your father would have a fucking heart attack." He shoved the pack at Gabriel. "Use the new ones. I don’t care. And you probably wouldn’t want to wear one of my old ones anyway. Throw your wet pair in the trash."
Gabriel took the clothes, feeling small and exposed. He’d never worn anything from a stranger before, the gesture felt like both an offense and a rescue.
"I… thanks," he managed. "For real."
"Go shower," Nico ordered, not even looking back.
Gabriel didn’t need to be told twice.
Back in the bathroom, he stripped quickly and stepped under the hot water. It felt like a gift from the gods after hours of cold and stress. He scrubbed himself with the strong-smelling soap, trying to wash away not just the grime, but the embarrassment.
He dried off with the rough towel and opened the new underwear pack. A relief. He put on the faded shirt, soft, smelling faintly of old fabric softener and that subtle tobacco scent from the living room. It swallowed his whole frame. The sweatpants were so loose he had to tighten the drawstring hard to keep them up. Dressed entirely in Nico’s clothes, he looked ridiculously small and out of place.
He hung his wet clothes on a drying rack behind the bathroom, turned on an old dehumidifier, and stepped out.
The house was steeped in deep silence. Only the storm filled the night, hammering the workshop roof. Gabriel paused at the entrance of the living room and looked around. Under the dim glow of a single lamp Nico had left on, the space looked less intimidating and more… homely.
The black leather couch practically called his name. Gabriel approached it and noticed a heavy dark wool blanket folded neatly at the edge. He hesitated, but exhaustion won. He lay down, sinking into the soft leather and warm fabric.
The blanket smelled even more like Nico, a scent of a man who lived with purpose, even if that purpose was fixing engines and being a pain in the ass.
Wrapped in it, Gabriel closed his eyes. He thought of Ollie and the guys, probably still awake, laughing and gaming. Thought of his parents, sleeping thousands of miles away, clueless about the mess he was in. The boy groomed for corporate life was lying in the cluttered home of a grumpy mechanic he barely knew.
It was ironic. His father had prepared him for everything in the business world, but not the real world, broken cars, storms, and the reluctant kindness of strangers.
In the quiet, he heard a faint sound down the hallway, a low, steady snore. Hülkenberg, sleeping deeply. The man’s presence, even unseen, was a strange anchor. For the first time that night, Gabriel felt truly safe.
He let himself sink into the couch. The rain was the perfect lullaby as his body finally relaxed. The last thought he had before falling asleep was that he really hoped Nico wouldn’t hate him more in the morning.