Who: Joe Hardy and Dorian Pavus What: Dorian gives some helpful advice When: Sometime today Where: Local home brew store Rating/Warnings Low Status: Complete!
Usually Frank Hardy’s hobbies (if you wanted to call them that) only lasted a few months at a time. He’d gone through so many, Joe had lost count a long time ago. Their apartment, and now their house, was littered with projects Frank had started, gotten most of the way through and then had abandoned for the next Interest-of-the-Month. Joe didn’t mind really. Actually, he really didn’t know any better. Frank had been this way their entire lives. So a mostly finished model plane in the living room next to a partially completed collection of quarters of the states and hidden under magazines regarding spelunking was perfectly normal.
The beer brewing, however, seemed to be the first hobby that Frank had decided to stick with for more than a few weeks. Perhaps it was the sheer length of time it took to brew a proper batch of beer that had kept Frank interested. Or maybe it was all the different kinds of things other than beer one could make with the right kind of setup. Or maybe it was the chemistry that was involved. Frank was nothing if not a colossal nerd about that kind of thing.
Not that Joe would ever admit it to his brother, but he admired that about Frank. He really was the brains of their partnership. Joe had always been the brawn, with his athletic build and quick reflexes, never afraid to throw down. Frank came up with the plans and Joe put them into motion.
The plan today, though, involved sending Joe to a local brew supply store to get a few things. Frank told him if he intended to drink the beer when it was finished, than he should probably help. Seemed fair. However, when Joe walked into the shop, list in hand, he found that the hours he’d spent working on his clunker while Frank went on and on about his newest passion probably hadn’t been hours well spent. Not only did he have no idea what he was looking for, he was hopeless at where to even look.
Ah, yes, homebrewing. One of Dorian’s favorite pastimes Actually, it was technically his only pastime - besides reading an obscene amount of books (for pleasure) from everything ranging from the latest occult fad to Hidden Figures (and you’d be a fool to not think that true-to-life story was amazing). But he worked so much, he didn’t have the spare minutes for a lot of hobbies - somehow, though, he found the time. One always made time, if the activity was truly of importance.
He knew exactly what he was looking for in this shop too - just some extra bottles, bottle caps, and a new bottle brush because the one he had needed replacing. Mostly, he considered himself the utmost in the art of winemaking but he brewed beer occasionally too - nothing was better than a cold beer paired with something bourgeois like a cheeseburger, and he didn’t give a shit who thought otherwise.
It was then he came across a fellow who looked rather lost. Poor lamb. Must be a beginner - well, never fear, his new best brewing friend was here. “Need some help?” he inquired politely. “The salespeople are likely drunk anyway, so I might be the best you can get. I presume you’re starting with extract-only brewing but do correct me if I’m wrong.”
Joe figured he looked about as lost as he felt, so he was relieved when someone came up to him and offered the help. He looked at the man a little sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, I really have no idea what I’m doing. My brother sent me out to get a few things for him on my way home from work.” He indicated the list in his hand. Bottles and caps were on that list too, along with specific tubing and yeast Frank had scribbled down quickly.
“Ah, a beginner. So fresh-faced and young,” Dorian sighed fondly, taking the list from the other man and giving it a lookover. “Shouldn’t be hard to find this. What I do recommend is a specific brewing day checklist though - with all the steps. If you can read, you can get it done. That way you won’t miss any of the little steps like making sure the valves are closed or sanitizing the kettle lid. There are some already online. But let’s see - “
He canted his head in the general direction of where the necessary supplies would be - his own could wait, this was far more important. “Vinyl transfer tubing,” he said, it off like a model on the Price Is Right would. “Dorian, by the way,” he introduced himself. “I’ve been at this for awhile.”
A few years, to be exact. He’d come out of his college debauchery days with a more sophisticated palette, at least - if he was going to drink, he’d prefer to not pour cheap ‘hunch punch’ down his throat just for the sake of getting utterly blitzed.
Joe tilted his head a little. Vinyl transfer tubing. Yeah, sure. The equipment needed for brewing even sounded as though he was back in his high school chem lab. He’d done alright in chemistry, sure, but the moment he’d graduated and went on to pursue a criminal justice degree, everything about tubing and bunsen burners had promptly been dumped into the section of his brain that no longer cared.
Mention of the checklist made Joe grin a little bit. Oh, Frank lived for that kind of thing. No wonder he’d decided to keep brewing instead of moving on to the next passing interest. “Yeah, Frank keeps one of those. I...don’t. I’m literally just the errand boy today.” He looked in the direction Dorian had indicated and wouldn’t you know it, there was the tubing he needed. Of course, right there in front of his face. Some detective he was. Maybe his skills really were rusting up with disuse. He looked sheepishly back at the other man. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m Joe Hardy. Nice to meet you, Dorian.”
“Likewise,” Dorian said grandly - he really did enjoy meeting new people, and one of the best things about living in Orange County was that he came across all sorts. Of course, he was the type to have a thousand friends and only one or two that were actually close to him, but anyway. Everyone had their quirks. “Don’t feel too bad about being the errand boy - it takes some skill to pick out the right things. Even something as simple as bottles. You’d think it be simple, though it’s really not.” The batch being ruined because of air! Broken glass! The horrors!
To demonstrate, he showed Joe the right kind of bottles he would want - sure, the list just said ‘bottles’ but what kind? “These are called oxygen barrier bottles,” Dorian explained. “They’re thicker and sturdier than standard glass. Mostly to prevent oxidation, which is what happens when the beer is exposed to oxygen and loses some of its aroma and flavor. If it loses too much, it begins to taste like sherry. Which isn’t terrible, however - “ He shrugged one shoulder, “...when you’re going for beer, you want beer.”
Hopefully that made sense. He had a feeling that Joe would go for the beer over something more wine-like though. “Best thing is, even if these bottles fall they won’t shatter. They can take a beating. And Frank is your - “ He squinted, as if trying to use psychic powers to guess. “Brother, cousin, partner-in-crime, other type of partner?”
Probably not that. Dorian had a finely tuned gaydar, and it wasn’t even going close to registering anything now.
“Oxygen barrier,” Joe repeated. He seemed to remember Frank mentioning something like that at some point. Probably while Joe was up to his elbow’s in his junker’s engine and only half paying attention, if paying attention at all. He hefted the bottle in his hand and noted the weight difference between this and your average bottle. The science behind the reason for the weight difference would have been lost on him, but he knew the physical difference now. Joe had always been more of a hands-on type of student.
He glanced up from the bottle at Dorian’s question regarding his relationship with Frank and laughed. “No. Franks my brother,” he explained with an easy smile.
“Partners in crime is also pretty accurate,” Joe went on as he started stocking up on the bottles Frank needed. “He has a kind of knack for dragging me into things.” Like making a cross-country trip to start a new life in sunny (bizarre) southern California. Or disguising himself as a male nurse to gain access to interview a witness at a hospital for some article. Or going out to a home brew store on his one day off in weeks. “Or anti-crime as the case may be.”
Dragging him into things, that made Dorian chuckle. “Sounds nice,” he observed, and he meant that too. He’d been an only child and there was no dragging him into anything - at least nothing fun. Just ‘duty’ and ‘mosque’ and ‘live your life a certain way in the present because it supposedly says so right here, something written thousands of years ago.’ He wasn’t so much about that, never had been. But a brother? That would be something.
“And what is it that you do?” he asked, picking up some bottles of his own - and caps, there, two things crossed off his own list. He always came to the homebrewing supply store with a goal in mind and would not deviate from it - Pier 1, however, was a different story. Dangerous. “For a living, I mean. Since he’s doing the dragging and you’re the good sport when it comes to hobbies.” “I’m a mechanic,” Joe offered. “I’m co-owner of Rainbow Motors.” It had gotten so easy to say that these days. Not just the ownership part, he was actually pretty proud of that, owning his own business again. Yes, he shared ownership with Stefan Salvatore, but he’d forgotten how much he’d missed being his own boss. And he enjoyed what he did. It wasn’t what he’d thought he’d been doing when he’d been a kid, but that was a dream long gone.
“What about you?” Joe asked, his tone friendly. “What do you do?”
“Rainbow Motors, what a fantastic name - it’s stylish,” Dorian chuckled. He reached into his pocket to pull out an equally stylish business card, which he then offered to Joe. “I’m an attorney, serving the LGBT community. So if you know of anyone who is in a bit of a bind, have them contact me.”
He was always passing along his info, his name, since word of mouth helped get his work out there and make those who would require his services aware and enlightened. Dorian wouldn’t change it either- he loved what he did, during the easier times and then during those times when it seemed thankless and he never got any sleep. Even the bags under his eyes (carefully disguised! Prevented with proper moisturizing!) were worth it, because he was doing what he felt strongly about.
“So that’s me, attorney by day and homebrewer by night. I like the mechanic by day, homebrewing gopher by night for you though - who knows, perhaps one day you’ll be sending your brother on errands next.”
Joe laughed, “yeah, I doubt it. It’s an older brother’s prerogative to send the younger one out on his errands, i guess.” He took Dorian’s card and studied it carefully. He was pretty good at remembering things once he got a good look at them. “I don’t know anyone who needs legal help now,” he admitted. But that might change at any moment. Who knew. “I’ll keep you in mind, though absolutely. And…” he dug a card of his own out of his wallet to give to Dorian in return, “...here’s my card. You know, in case you’re ever in the neighborhood and need a tune up. It’s the least I can do after you’re helping me out here.”
Ah, fantastic. Dorian’s car, his Audi, was a hunk of metal he also felt strongly about. He didn’t go so far as to name her (yet) but she was quite the beauty with a lovely purring engine. “It’s very possible I will need a tune-up soon, and what better place to get one than Rainbow Motors?” he grinned. Really, what a great name. It must have ‘the gays’ (as the country’s esteemed leader, Pussgrab McOrange, would say) flocking there in droves.
The co-owner wasn’t bad looking either. Obviously not on the ‘rainbow’ side of things, but who couldn’t appreciate a bit of aesthetics?
“Fow now, I just need to pick up a bottle brush or two and I’m set,” he added. “Need anything else while you’ve got my expertise at the ready?” Rainbow Motors had had its name long before Joe had started working for Dean Winchester. Joe had no idea if it was any kind of reference to the LGBTAQ community or the fact that the garage could and would work on any car from any country around the world. To be fair, he hadn’t ever thought about it, either. When he and Stefan had taken over the garage, it had been easier for them to just keep the name than make an attempt to rebrand the place.
Did the name have “The Gays” flocking there? Joe had no idea about that either. He hadn’t ever thought about it, and honestly, it wasn’t any of his business. What he did know was that their customers were loyal and he and Stefan had wanted to reassure them that even with Dean gone, nothing was going to change. They were still going to get the same great service they always had. If the unique name brought in new customers, even better. It didn’t matter to either owner what walk of life they were a part of or how they identified themselves. As far as Joe Hardy was concerned, the language of cars transcended all of that.
As apparently did the language of home brewing. Dorian was a nice dude, and extremely helpful. You didn’t find that every day and Joe really appreciated it. “Yeah, actually, if you don’t mind. I know what most of this other stuff on the list is, but I wouldn’t know quality stuff from not-so quality stuff” And judging by the list Joe had, Frank was in desperate need of a restock.
“Of course. Come then, my good man - “ Dorian patted Joe’s shoulder, ready to lead him off into the wild blue yonder of homebrewing. So much to learn, so much knowledge to impart. “We’ll get you the finest in grains, malts, water treatments, brewing salts...”
He began to head in the direction of the flavorings aisle, because it was honestly his favorite part. Oak chips, herbs and spices, sugars. There was a whole cacophony of selection. The yeast could happen last, however. Because that was a terrible word and who wanted to shop for yeast anyway?