Chapter 7: The Iron Man Stool

Dillon had awesome parents. He loved them to pieces, and they loved him. This he knew and accepted as fact, but he still felt unaccepted and unloved by them at the same time. He couldn't get close to them. If they found out about his sickness, it would be disastrous. It may be that his fear of the consequences had affected his perception of reality. Whatever the reason, because he was afraid, he couldn't be himself around his parents. This caused him to distance himself from them, in the hopes that he'd minimize the risk of a slip-up. Dillon was sad that he had to keep them at a distance, but there would be a day when he would tell them everything.

  It seemed that they had assumed that Dillon needed space to grow, so they didn't restrict him much in the way of where he could go. So long as he checked in, was back before ten o'clock, and didn't do anything dangerous or illegal. Otherwise, they stayed out of his way since he wasn't a troublemaker. No, only on the school bus was he anything close to a troublemaker. His mom was upset, however, when he started to refuse to go to church. Why attend when he didn't buy into it? God hadn't helped him through anything, but for some reason, expected loyalty, obedience, and worship? Screw that. Dillon tried to be respectful with his parents in terms of their different views. Besides, they didn't talk about it much anymore. Dillon thought about what he wanted to say, then started to type out his reply. 

  Dillon 2:07 PM: Hey ma, just wanted to let you know I'll be at Vinnie's, that autobody shop on Main. Remember the friend I made at tech school I told you about? He works there so we're gonna hang till he's done. Should be home before dinner, if not I'll text. Love you! Hope your day is going well! ^_^

  He hit send, and refocused himself on the walk to the shop. It was quite a bit closer to the bus stop than his home was. On the way, he daydreamed about what they might do. What did 'chill' even mean? Not that it mattered to him. He wanted to learn about Tony as his friend, so setting didn't matter. Dillon was definitely curious about what he had done to the Subaru without side mirrors. It was fun to watch him work. One time he even let him help. Tony had him wet sand a couple door panels to smooth the primer coat so the paint stuck evenly. The smell of the shop combined with the feel of the metal underhand as he sanded calmed him. The more he learned about body work, the more interested he became in the industry.

  Up the road he saw the shop, adjusted his clothes and backpack, and ran his hand through his short sandy blonde hair. Dillon was happy he was at the point that he didn't get nervous when he was around Tony now. His company was genuinely enjoyable. As per usual, when he walked up Tony's garage door was wide open. The Subaru was still in really bad shape, but at least had one side mirror partially reattached with duct tape. Tony loudly ground away at a patch of rust on the other detached side mirror with an air driven grinding wheel. He looked up at the ceiling of the shop and saw giant spools of hoses that hung from the rafters. The air tube above Tony's station was hooked up to the grinder he used. Dillon assumed that most of the shop's power tools ran on compressed air. It was a lot cheaper and renewable, which was an excellent choice for a city of smog like theirs. 

  As Dillon walked slowly up to Tony, he craned his neck to see up close what he was up to. He didn't wanna scare the shit out of him while he used a power tool, so he looked for a stool to pull up. The only one he could find was a ridiculously tacky Iron Man stool. Dillon was horrified. He visited the shop fairly regularly and he never noticed it before. Was this new? Why would Tony get this? 'Who the hell wants to park their ass on Iron Man's face?!' Dillon shivered and cringed inwardly.

  Finally Tony took his hand off the trigger for the pressurized air, and the grinder hissed as it slowed to a stop. Dillon crossed his arms and stayed totally silent as Tony took off his goggles and gloves. He was covered in black dust, probably the metal and rust he had just grinded off. As he pulled a partially soiled shop towel out of his pocket, Dillon coughed, loud and dramatic. Tony started and whipped his head around.

  "'Bout time! It's rude to keep guests waitin', fuckhead!" Dillon scoffed, nose in the air. Tony cracked a big smile.

  "How long have you been there?!" 

  "Like five minutes. You were intent on your grindin' and I didn't feel like scarin' you while you had a power tool. Yer welcome." Dillon gave him two thumbs up and got up to shake his hand. "Oh, and what the absolute fuck is this?" He turned and pointed to the Iron Man stool. 

  "That's my Iron Man stool, dipshit. Hahaha! You like, yes? Or are you a hater?" Tony narrowed his eyes. 

  "I-I mean Marvel is a'ight, I guess? Only hero I ever liked was DC's Batman, though. But dude, why do you have this abomination of a stool?" Dillon furrowed his brow and grinned slightly.

  "I'll give you that. Batman is a good choice, but not as good a choice as Iron Man, bitch. He's modern day Batman. Gotham's in another universe too. Don't diss my stool, you snot!" Tony pointed at him with two fingers. 

  "It's sooo tacky, man. I don't want Iron Man eatin' my ass out everytime I sit." He cringed.

  "Hey, I needed a higher stool to use under the lifts, ok? I saw this godly Iron Man stool at a thrift store and couldn't resist! Look at it! It's hand painted! That's talent!" Tony insisted. 

  "Yea, I'll begrudgingly admit whoever painted it was talented, but that doesn't invalidate the fact that Iron Man's lips are on my hole! Hehehehahaha!" He laughed at Tony's shocked expression.

  "Whatever, you millennials don't know the classics or the finer things. Y'all just wanna be sucked into Facebook n' shit." He grumbled.

  "Oh, yer right about that. Farmville is very addicting. It's a problem for me. I've missed my bus playin' it."

  "Damn it, I'll admit I'm into Restaurant City myself..."

  "Yooo, me too! Add me later! Friend me, too. At Dillon Vera. Spam-gift me eggs, please! I always seem to be out of 'em."

  "Haha, sure you scratch my back I'll scratch yers." Tony winked.

  Every time Tony winked at him he felt his stomach twist weirdly and his face heat up a couple degrees. He needed to be careful to keep and eye on his body language and where he rested his gaze. Dillon knew that people could feel when someone looked at them while their back was turned. At least, he thought he read that somewhere. Regardless, he should be careful just in case.  

  While his nerves got better and better the more time they spent together, he made sure to keep himself 'satisfied' in that way. It was necessary so his frustration didn't leak out. Tony was his friend, and that made him beyond happy. However, at times Dillon would get frustrated with the strain the friendship took on his mental state and libido. He would get over the frustration in a day or two, but it always came back.

  Tony had eventually gotten back to work so he could finish up and go. He looked tired, which made sense because he typically started super early. Not to mention, the fact that he was here on a Saturday meant he likely had work to catch up on. To be a mechanic seemed tough, with high physical demands, just like a chef. He had seen in-shape baseball players not have the stamina or agility to keep up in a busy, crowded, insanely hot, and messy kitchen. Explosive, instantaneous strength wasn't always helpful in either industry.

 Dillon felt Tony's pain and sore muscles after a long day's work like that. He kept Tony company while he finished up various things he had to grind and fill. They talked about this and that, and would have companionable silences when Tony had to focus on something. While Tony started to organize his work bench and clean up, Dillon remembered he wanted to ask him something.