Something entirely uncharacteristic flowed through Slav then, when his brother grabbed him. For a second, only a second, he really wanted to punch Nik. Not playfully, but as hard as he could. Still, it was true that Nik was an inch taller, had a good deal of muscle on him and definitely had more experience fighting, and there was no doubt that the middle Jones brother would lose any fight in a heartbeat.
With a sigh, he turned around as directed, even if he did not wipe away the bordering on petulant expression on his face. Funny how feeling like someone was treating you like a kid tended to make you unconsciously act just as expected. Because it was not just that he had been hurt and then angry over the fact that Nik thought he could not even remember to tie his shoelaces, which he so could, but the fact was that he had not really realized that Nik took so much onto himself and that it could be wearing him down.
So he was a little taken aback when Nik told him the idea of getting his own garage. It had always been Slav's dream to have his own place to put classic cars back together, either from the frame up or truly horrific shape. Where he was apprenticing now was great, he loved being there and hanging out with the guys, especially one of the mechanics named Torque. Who was a genius at everything engines, which Slav really did not understand as much as he would like to. But the fact was that it was a full garage, and they sometimes were stuck working on modern cars. Which completely bummed the teen out, having to put together one of those cookie cutter things.
"Really?" Was all he could ask, astounded and wide-eyed. His anger and fledgling resentment completely forgotten. It was like that with Slav, easily distracted from being angry by pretty much anything, given half a chance. Likely one of the reasons that he was less likely to brood like his brothers, he just did not have the attention span or love of it to last long.
If the idea of actually being able to have his own garage, soon instead of years in the future like he had already begun saving his money to do, had not been enough...wow. Slav stared at the model, "I thought I lost that. Or Bianca took it 'cause I forgot to clean my room again." It was a scale model of a 427 Shelby Cobra, the classic cobalt with white racing stripes. The little car had disappeared from his room years ago, and he had completely forgotten it existed except on the odd occasion here and there.
He had been six, and had gotten more paint and glue on himself than on the car, but he had painstakingly made sure that it was perfect. It had been the first time that he had actually stayed still and focused long enough to get anything done.