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Future Starts Slow

Summary:

In the beginning, their job was to secure their freedom. In the end, they have to save the future.

Notes:

Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.

Title from the Kill's, "Future Starts Slow".

A/N: This is a Furious 7-inspired AU. Mostly, I wondered what would have happened if the major plot device in the movie took a wrong turn and became a huge problem. Possibly kick starting the apocalypse if given the opportunity, maybe? This AU will be heavily inspired by other recent sci-fi works, including the Leftovers, the 4400, and, of course, a certain 'I'll be back' franchise.

This will be an interesting ride; that I can promise. Beware: emotional whump lies ahead, especially for Dom who is still very much grieving for much of the early part of the story. There are significant religious themes as he uses his faith to cope with his loss.

Comments welcome.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

These days Dom stopped by St. Michael’s after closing the garage. After their parents died, neither he nor Mia attended mass every Sunday. They kept their faith as a watered down facsimile that was easy to follow and custom fit for their world: grace before dinner, no hard cursing, honor thy mother and father eternally, and have faith in family always, even if nothing else in life could be trusted.

Now that they were back home, Dom found the familiar habit of sitting in the pew with a bowed head and the rosary sliding through his fingers familiar and comforting.

He hadn’t taken communion yet. Not entirely sure that he was ready to have his sins absolved or if he was ever fully contrite for the things he’d done or been forced to do. The saints that got his prayers had seen every mile of his journey, each turn marked by some high curve or ragged edge where concrete met rebellious earth and knew that his prayers were never for himself. The new Padre, the replacement for the always ancient yet friendly Padre Jose, left him alone with his thoughts, only offering a faithful ear should Dom ever seek to confess. His confessions had already been given an audience once, one that never betrayed his trust. It felt like tempting fate to try the same thing twice.

As he rounded through the verses of the Hail Mary, he tucked his secrets further and allowed himself to blend in with the crowd of parishioners who were here praying for their lost ones.

Pray for us sinners

He crossed himself once slowly before tucking the rosary away in the front pocket of his work shirt. He rose quietly from the bench and waited in line behind an old woman who clutched the school photo of her granddaughter between her hands, finely wrinkled and fragile like warm terracotta, shuffling in a swaying list as if her old bones moved to the music of the angels. The girl was forever frozen at eight inside the glossy front of the picture with long black pigtails, smiling brightly in a white shirt and a hot pink jumper, clutching a large plush Dora the Explorer doll as she flashed her missing teeth to the world.

The old woman lit her solitary candle, then turned away, only offering Dom a small thin-lipped smile as she tottered down the narrow aisle towards the confessionals. They were all alike—the people inside this church, each looking for answers to the same series of questions about life and death, and what the things they had to live through meant for those that remained.

Dom found a row with enough candles for his prayers. He lit a series for his dead --the first for his parents, the second one for Jesse, the third for Letty, the fourth for Vince; then he moved on to his living, and, finally, one for his missing. Dom held no pride in his hands not shaking as he lit the last one.

Exiting the church, Dom entered into the wall of dry heat and the rising twilight where streetlights shyly rose into bloom. He didn’t need light to walk back to the Charger where it sat five cars down from the church steps. Light foot traffic moved over the sidewalk as restaurants came alive and Mom and Pop shops shut down for the night.

From all sides, the neighborhood appeared just the same as before he’d left years ago. Most of the stores were still open. Kids scrambled over the park, screaming as they climbed the monkey bars and fought for ownership of the high slide, mothers scolding them to hurry up and come home. Open bar doors spilled music and beer onto the street. Street art covered any vacant surface.

It was all the same.

Until he got to the black spray paint scrawled over the obnoxious billboard for some useless thing hocked on late night TV or soon-to-be cancelled show or blocky graffiti tags on bus benches, buildings, and the occasional sidewalk asking the same thing:

Where are they?

Dom didn’t have any answers. Was just like the rest of the world, waiting for a sign.

What he did have was a home where his sister was waiting for him, two businesses that were thriving, and the freedom to come and go as he pleased without having to look over his shoulder. Because his previous sins were forgiven by the government, he hoped that between the prayers, candles, and pure intentions that he’d garner some sway with anyone listening upstairs.


Dom entered the house to find the living still far too empty compared to memory. “Hey.” His voice carried loudly in the big house.

“In the kitchen, Dom.” Mia called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

They hugged each other more now. Between every coming and going. Forever marked by what had happened and holding on to the small corner of their family. He was so grateful to still have his sister and her love for him was never questioned.

Over dinner, Mia said, “Rome called. He’s coming this time.” She took a careful bite of her food and subtly waited for Dom’s reaction.

At first, Dom just made a small noise as he chewed, then gave in to her quiet demand, “Okay. It’ll be good to see him.” He and Rome had gotten off to a rocky start in Rio, but they’d buried the hatchet once they had the hot sum of millions to share. Fundamentally, he knew their strife came as a result of them acting like junkyard dogs starving for the wet bone of Brian’s affection; both failing to see that said affection was a steak juicy enough to feed an army.

But that good will was before the Event. Before Brian became one of them: the Missing. Before Dom was the last person to see Brian before he disappeared.

“Yeah, that makes everybody coming.” Mia sounded so happy. She kept her task as logistics coordinator in Rio going despite the rigors of being fully employed hospitalist at East L.A. Memorial Hospital and kept tabs on each of their number. “It’ll be a good day.”

His strength had always been apparent, but hers was deep like iron ore buried beneath the earth. His sister could take on the world and keep going. Her optimism was inexhaustible. When his ran dry, he knew he could always borrow a share of hers.

“I think you’re right, Mia Bella. It will be a good day.” Imagining the house full again, if only briefly, made him smile. A rare action for him these days. “Can’t wait to see everybody.”

He washed the dishes. Because Brian always made a point of saying that the cook didn’t clean and press-ganged Dom into joining him. He still struggled to not handover a plate to a hand that was not there waiting to receive it.

Everyone looked for a reason behind the Event. People looked for a cause. Dom looked inward and only found guilt.

At night, Dom pondered the one tally that was forever skewed in Brian’s favor. Brian had taken it upon himself to become the undisputed negotiator of Dom’s freedom. After the Event, the government was so eager to get a count of the Missing that anyone who could prove that their loved one had been taken got the equivalent of one get out of jail free card. The fact that Brian had left a paper trail tangling Rome, Mia, and Tej in his legal affairs, as emergency contacts and medical proxies, created a scramble that provided Uncle Sam with enough evidence to let the Lompoc smash and grab and previous transgressions be swept under the rug. All under the proviso that each family member behave and leave their previous bullshit across the border.

Easier said, of course.

He wanted to blame Brian for putting them in this situation. Blaming him for going missing was as irrational as being mad that the sun continued to rise and set in spite of the shit storm they’d been forced to weather.

The hours ticked down slow and quietly like drops raining into an already full bucket. It was so strange to possess such an deep well of energy below the surface but lacking in a direction to aim it—now listless and trapped within walls that couldn’t protect any of them any longer.

He sank down into his pillows, the movement of his body disturbing the air as he searched for a good spot. The noise was a sad reminder of the empty state of the house. Pushing towards optimism, Dom thought of the noise as a harbinger of better things to come.

In his head, he’d relived those final moments over and over and had crafted thousands of things to say before…before Brian was just gone.

Dom could see the glass door leading into the gas station, stickers for junk food, football teams, and the lottery filling up much of the glass. Brian had the pump in hand and had flashed him an uncharacteristically shy grin as he waited for the gas to flow.

“I’ll let you think about that,” he said and had licked his lip slow and sweetly like he was collecting fresh sugar on his tongue. “When you come back, we’ll figure it out.”

Five minutes ago, they had been standing in front of the Challenger—balanced by it as they watched the ocean and made moves that opened an infinite series of doors and answered questions left half-buried since the first day they’d met. Dom had the taste of Brian on his mouth. It already felt like it belonged there.

Dom hadn’t answered with his words, had kept his voice idling in his throat until it was just them again in the safety of the Challenger. So, he’d nodded and had strode over the soft yellow dirt and out of the hot Spanish sun to enter the gas station. Fourteen steps to the inside. He fisted two liters of water by the tops and had considered picking up a stick of the Gatos Licorice that Brian liked.

He had the perfect view of Brian’s back as he leaned against the car, though Dom doubted he imagined the slight shift of Brian’s head, reacting as if he could feel Dom watching him; nonetheless, he caught the unmistakable shadow of a silhouette of a smile.

Dom had his turn at the register and a slow crawl of ice traveled down his back; an unforgettable feeling that struck as suddenly as a skipped heartbeat. A woman’s voice called from the back of the store for her baby. Each call—Esteban, Esteban, Esteban!—growing more fearful and edging closer to the ledge of panic until it finally tipped over into a knee-dropping shriek.

When he looked back at the Charger, it stood alone under clear Mediterranean blue sky. He took the bag with the water and the lone stick of candy and stepped out the door, blocking out the sound of the mother’s screaming for the confused whisperings of the gas station lot.

He stood there for a beat too long until his mind caught up with the input from the rest of his senses: Brian wasn’t there.

Seven footsteps back to the Challenger.

The pump was still feeding the tank, working independently despite the sudden onset of chaos. The dirt told the truth even if it all appeared to be a bunch of lies when Dom replayed the moments: Brian’s long tracks in the dirt, running the length of pump platform, five sets of steps with the Converse logo in the top soil, and then no more.

Those thousand replies to Brian saying they’d figure it out when he came back go unheard.

Three years later, Dom would lie in his bed trying to sleep, still counting steps and rehearsing the things he could have said before and after on the same smooth tread of words.

Closing his eyes, he geared up for the one thing he hadn’t finished for the day and moved easily through the words.

Now and at the hour

When he finished his prayer, he could sleep knowing that the rest of his family was coming together again, even if only for a short time.