A/N: Thank you to wibbywobblymusicstuff on tumblr for the beta-you caught some stuff I never would've!

The afterlife wasn't all that different from the wasteland of the barely living. At first, Nux didn't even notice that he had died.

Then he remembered the crash.

It didn't hurt—or, he didn't remember it hurting, at least. He felt at his body, and he found no mark of any ill-health. He felt oddly good, but something was… off. He shivered and put his hand to the base of his neck, to find his two most constant friends.

But Larry and Barry weren't there. Where there had been two seemingly malicious lumps, there was now simply smooth skin. The small faces he had drawn on them in life were still there, stretched and warped, staring up at him. He forced himself to look away. That was when another thought crossed his mind.

This is not Walhalla.

"You're right, it's not," came a voice. He whipped around to see a man, about his height, the same dull tan color as the world around them. He wore a tattered cloak and had distant eyes. When he wasn't looking directly at the man, Nux had a hard time remembering exactly what he looked like.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"That's unimportant," said the man, taking a step to his side, and beginning to pace a circle around Nux. "What is important is what I have to say. Nux…" He broke off, and glanced off into the expanse. "You have a great many things to learn, you silly boy."

"If I didn't make it to Walhalla, then where am I? Where are we?"

The man smirked. "Walhalla, yes. Where we are, in terms you will understand, is Hel. Your life was complicated and much of it was spent doing vile things, and now your time must be served."

"What—what do you mean?"

"Nux, your life is over. Your journey, however, has just begun."

"What—what the fuck do you…" Nux whipped around, fury in his eyes, his scarred chest heaving, but the man was gone, vanished into thin air. He kicked the sand in frustration, sending a small spray into the air.

Then, he realized that he was thirsty.

It was not a sensation he felt often. The Immortan had not wanted the warboys to get addicted to its siren-like temptation, and he was used to the absence of thirst. It was something that he had purged from his body.

But then again, had he not also purged a fear of death? Ever since he had met the fiery woman—Capable— and the others, he had feared the death, even a glory-filled one, he had previously striven for.

But now? Now he was thirsty, full of a thirst that he couldn't explain. It was more intense than any other craving he had ever experienced.

He looked around him, into the wasteland, to see if there was anything at all that he might be able to use, anything that might give him drink, or get him closer to it.

After turning around for the third or so time, Nux saw something in the distance. It might have been a mirage, but Nux did not even care—it was something, and he needed to drink. Without another moment's hesitation, he started toward the glimmer.

There was a sun in the sky, but it didn't burn on Nux's painted back in the way it normally did. It did not make him feel anything, and that unsettled him even more. His eyes fixed on that point, that glimmering speck, as he jogged to it. Even here, his mismatched boots made running slower than it could've been. The thing, his destination, wavered momentarily, and he silently cursed it before it became a fixed point again. It did not seem to get any closer to him as he ran, and he wished that he had been able to bring some sort of vehicle to the afterlife the same way he'd brought the loose pants and oversized boots that he wore. Perhaps that was the only difference between this place, Hel, and the Walhalla that Nux had dreamed of: Walhalla would have a car.

Lost in his own thoughts, Nux did not even notice that he had greatly neared the thing, whatever it was. He wasn't moving any faster, and there was no way that he could've covered the ground he apparently had, but…

This place, Hel, was weird. He knew machines. He didn't know how this world worked. He knew working parts that were solid, tangible.

Strange or not, the thing on the horizon was becoming more and more tangible-seeming as he moved. It never got any nearer when he focused on it, but if he wasn't paying attention, it would end up being nearer than it had been before. Once Nux had discovered this, it made him incredibly frustrated because it was more difficult to not pay attention to it.

After a long and painful process of continually losing himself in his own thoughts so that he could simply get closer to his goal, one that he could not even think about, Nux was finally able to get to the thing that was shimmering in his vision. It was a pump of some sort. Nux knew enough about machines to know that, but he had no idea what it might be for. Judging by the way it stuck into the ground, Nux assumed it might be connected to an underground tank of guzzoline.

He grasped the long metal handle and lifted it up and brought it down. It gave a great deal of resistance, as if it had not been used for a long time. He pumped it again, and it was slightly easier this time. There came a guttural groan from deep below the pump.

When the water began to pour forth, Nux pumped only once or twice more before stooping to cup his hands and drink the water. It was good and clear, but Nux felt its refreshment only briefly before being ripped from his location in the Hel reality to another one altogether.

Nux could still feel the water on his lips, but he did not feel real at all. He felt like a ghost, intangible. That was fitting, considering he was dead.

What was in front of him, though, was alive, in the form of the nubile and powerful wives. They were crowded around something. Then, he noticed the absence of the Dag. He took a step closer, and a scream pierced the air. Nux realized that the Dag was there, all right, but it was her in the middle of the crowd of women. They seemed calm, despite her scream.

Nux stepped back, and a woman in white clothing stepped directly through him. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was vaguely unsettling. He shivered, as he once had when he was alive, racked with fever and sickness.

The crowd of women was tight around the Dag, and Nux moved closer so he could see. As he did, he noticed the Imperator, leaning against the wall. She was trying to seem like she didn't care about what was happening, but her sideways glances Nux caught her casting toward the others told him a different story. Instead of moving forward, to the crowd around the Dag, he went to Furiosa. He leaned against the wall next to her, and leaned in. "What's going on over there?" he asked, jamming hi thumb in the direction of the other women. He kept his voice to a whisper, as to not startle anyone.

However, Furiosa did not reply to him, or make any notice of his presence. At first Nux thought she was just ignoring him. "Imperator!" he said, much louder, not worrying about keeping his voice down. She still did not make any indication that she had heard him. At this point, he began to get a little irritated.

"Listen, Furiosa, just because…" He trailed off. He had gone to put his hand on her shoulder, to give her a slight shove, and his hand had gone through her, just like the other woman had gone through him, earlier. He stepped back, holding his hands in front of him in horror. He could see his hands, he knew that he was there, but to the others, he was a ghost.

A scream from the Dag pulled him out of his thoughts of himself. He decided to test his intangibility and instead of peering over the shoulders of the women, he walked directly through them, to witness what was going on. His eyes widened when he did.

The Dag was lying on a bed on her back, her whole body covered in sweat as she clutched the sheets. One of her hands was in Toast's, with Cheedo next to her, and Capable stood at the other side.

"Push," urged the woman in white, who stood between the Dag's spread legs. "Push, the baby is coming."

The baby. In all that had happened, Nux had nearly forgotten that she was with child. They had told him how they were not things, and how they were no longer the breeders the Immortan had kept them for, but that did not change what he had done to them. It did not change the little life she was now bringing into the world.

Another scream from the Dag, and Nux moved to stand next to Toast, to look across the bed to Capable. He was shocked in observing her, how beautiful she was, without even trying to be. Her mere presence, for him, inferred radiance.

"Push," said the woman in white again, not looking to the Dag's face but instead between her legs, where she seemed to have her hands placed—somewhat bloodied. "Push, you can do it."

The Dag let loose a scream that chilled Nux's immaterial bones. He could see the beads of sweat as they popped up on the small woman's face. Her teeth clenched as she squeezed Toast's hand, the other hand digging into the blanket below her.

"That's it," said the woman in white. "A little more…"

Nux was curious, but did not move from where he was, not wanting to get in the way. He realized that he would just move through the people and not get in their way slightly too late, because the Dag let out a gasp and the woman in white stood up, holding in her hands a squirming and slimy baby, it's umbilical cord draped over her arm. "It's a boy. He's healthy." She turned and looked along the side of the bed. "I'll cut the cord, and then you can have him."

Nux moved through Toast, so that he was standing, in a way, both in her and Cheedo, his head rising between theirs. Though he knew that she could not see him, he felt like he made eye contact with Capable. It gave him a rise in his chest, as if the engine of his ribs was running hot.

The woman in white handed the baby to the Dag. It was disgusting, covered in slime and fluids, but it did not scream, even when Cheedo leaned in close and fawned over it. She addressed some coos toward the baby itself for a moment before turning to its mother. "You are truly a mother now, and the title will suit you well, I am sure." The Dag replied to this with a timid though not unenthusiastic smile. "It's a boy, that's unexpected." Furiosa joined them, glancing down at the baby and smiling. "Have you thought of a name?"

"Yes," said the Dag. "My boy will not be a warlord. And he will not be what he would have otherwise been conditioned to be. That why," her eyes darted to Capable and back to the baby, "I am calling him Nux." The shock showed on some of their faces, but Capable smiled. "He will shape his own life, and be his own man."

Furiosa placed her hand on the Dag's leg. "That's a good seed you're sowing." Capable looked up from the baby and for the briefest of moments, Nux could've sworn that she recognized him there, but he was gone, turn from that world, and thrust, abruptly, back into Hel.

"Arugh!" Nux sputtered, his lips shaking as if he had spit out a mouthful of water. He spat onto the dusty ground, and, realizing he was kneeling, stood up. The pump, which had been in front of him, was gone, leaving nothing behind except for Nux and the desert of Hel.

The dream he had just experienced—the vision—he couldn't put it out of his head. It wasn't a vision or hallucination, as he had tried to think of it. He had been there, really and truly, even if the women, still living, did not recognize his presence. He had been there, and they had named the Dag's child—after him! Of all the names, they had given his.

Nux sank to his knees and then into a sitting position. The sand was hot underneath him, but he paid no mind. The Dag missed him, they all did. They remembered him well, not as some useless warboy. He did not die as cannon fodder. He died redeemed, to them, a hero.

An ache went through his chest. He missed them, too. In the short time he had spent with them, he realized how full of life they were, how wrong he had been, how wrong the Immortan had been. He had changed. He was glad.

He loved those women, and now, he realized with a heavy heart, that he missed them. He missed them sorely, now that he knew that they missed him and loved him, too.

The pain of loss filled him, and he found himself wanting for another drink something that would bring him back, allow him to see them all again, see Capable again… The water was what had given that to him, he was sure, but he was unsure of how he was going to get any again. The pump was gone, and all he had was the desert, which stretched out from where he was standing seemingly endlessly.

He struggled to his feet, and, once standing, held a hand above his eyes, squinting at the sand around him. He searched for even an indication of where he had first come from, but there was not even a trail of footprints. The thirst gnawed at his throat, and the loneliness pulled at his heart.

He began to walk.

He had no destination, saw no point toward which he meant to travel, but he walked nonetheless. It seemed the thing to do—it would be better than saying sedentary. At least this way, he might end up closer to another source of water. Perhaps Hel had more than one magical vanishing water pump.

The sand shifted beneath his boots as he wandered, but no more did it shift than it could in the briefest of moments underfoot, for he kept walking. A tiredness came to him, but he felt it distantly, with a sort of detachment. He never felt so tired that he needed to stop, just enough to make the long walk seem even more endless.

The loneliness didn't help, either. It gnawed at his chest. At some point, it closed up his windpipe in a way that Larry and Barry never had. Ad now, he couldn't even count of their company. It was him, and the desert, and no one else. He was alone.

That was when he saw the shape on the horizon. He couldn't be sure it was really there, or if it was simply wishful thinking, but there was that speck, and he had a goal.

The speck worked in much the same way that the one had before. He found it even harder, this time, to keep his mind off what he was moving toward. He knew that if he got to the speck on the horizon, and it was a pump—and he was increasingly sure that it was—he would be able to go back and see his friends again.

It felt like hours to Nux before he reached the pump, but he wasn't able to base that on anything. The dull light that seemed to beat down on his back from some unseen source in the sky did not change at all in the passing of time, and Nux began to wonder if there was any time at all in Hel, or if things were just as he imagined them. This didn't stay on his mind for too long, though, because as soon as he got to the pump, he ignored the fatigue that was nibbling at him and pumped vigorously, catching the water and bringing it, in cupped hands, to his scarred lips.

Nux was ready for it this time, even though he wasn't entirely sure if it would happen at all. The reality of Hel was stripped away from him, and he found himself in the passenger seat of a car. It wasn't built up like the cars of the Immortan's war parties—instead, it sat low to the ground and didn't seem to be outfitted for anything but driving.

In the driver's seat sat his bloodbag. He was hunched over the wheel, staring intently out of the dirty windshield. His hair and beard had grown out a bit, but otherwise, he seemed to be undamaged. Nux reached out to him, his fingertips brushing his bloodbag's shoulder briefly before phasing right through him. Nux withdrew his hand, and sat back in the seat. It was the same as before.

The puffs of dust billowed up from behind the car, rising like clouds into the sky, up against what should have been clear blue. Then, Nux realized why his bloodbag's knuckles were so white where he clutched the steering wheel. Behind the dust being kicked up by his car rose a huge wall of dust, a storm the likes of which Nux had seen many times before—and survived only once.

Nux turned back forward, catching his bloodbag's eyes as he turned around the check the closeness of the storm. He could've sworn that there was some sort of recognition there, some sort of a glimpse of a moment where the road warrior recognized him. When his bloodbag kept turning to look behind him, Nux knew that it was simply his own mind playing tricks on him.

Nux sat back in the seat. There was nothing he could do, except sit. The car was pushed to its max, he3 could tell that; his bloodbag's foot was pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. He sighed, and noticed that the driver was still checking behind him, and ahead of them was, rapidly approaching, a large orange boulder, almost growing out of the tannish-orange sand all around it.

"Bloodbag!" exclaimed Nux. He tried to shake the man's shoulder, but his hand went right through. "Bloodbag, the…" Nux started to warn him again, but he couldn't. He was just a ghost, and nothing he could say could turn his bloodbag's head, no matter how loudly he shouted.

Nux reached for the wheel, figuring that if the car was physical to him, and he could sit in the seat, then maybe he would be able to grab ahold of the wheel. His fingers slid right through it, leaving him at a loss. He sat up in his seat, heart pumping in his chest, just as his bloodbag turned around to see what was in front of him. As soon as he saw the rock, he put all of his force into hitting the brakes and turning the wheel, but there was too much momentum on the loose sand.

The car hurtled into the rock, crashing near-sideways. Nux watched his bloodbag's arm snap as he hit the rock, and his head hit the steering wheel with enough force to knock him unconscious—or kill him. That was all he could gather before the storm overcame them, dropping Nux back into Hel.

"No!" shouted Nux, pounding his fist into the sand. "No, no, shit, no!" He heaved breaths, tears welling up in his eyes. If he had been there, physically as well as whatever weird kind of spiritually he was, he would have been able to save him, been able to warn him. If he had died, that would be Nux's responsibility. It was his responsibility, if he had even gotten hurt.

Nux let out a tortured scream, leaning back, fists clenched, scarred chest to the sky. He was just a ghost, and he was useless. He could be there, but he couldn't be there. He couldn't be there for Capable or the other woman, to assuage their grief, and he couldn't be there to warn his bloodbag, even though through some sort of magic he didn't understand, he was there. He pounded his fist into the ground once more, this time with less gusto, and collapsed down over it, tears coming again.

Nux felt pain. He felt the loss of his new life, the one he had just made of the Fury Road. He felt the gnawing of his missing of his friends, the only real friends he had ever known, as well as Larry and Barry, oddly, because their choking embrace was at least something he could count on. He missed Capable, missed every bit of her. He hurt of fatigue, for the walking had caught up with him, and he hurt of loneliness, and of heat.

A man was standing over him.

"You seem sad," said the tall man, the same man who had greeted Nux before. He looked down to Nux. A shadow from some unseen light source fell over the smaller man.

"I…" started Nux, but he wasn't sure what he could say. He looked down, only realizing that he was crying when he watched a tear splatter against the sand.

"Do you realize the implications of this place? Surely, you know of Hel."

Nux looked up to the man, only slightly bale to understand what the man's face looked like. "I was a war boy—kama-crazy—and I did was I did so that I could ride immortal in Walhalla."

"And surely there was somewhere for those not promised a glorious and chrome afterlife," said the man.

"Hel," responded Nux. He paused before continuing. "But they—they were good. They were kind. We were—we were family."

"You think your sins against the Immortan have brought you here?" For the first time, emotion reared its head in the man's voice. "You are here because of your service to Immortan Joe. The things you've done, the way you've acted—now, your time here, you're atoning for that."

Nux worked his way to his feet. "So this isn't—there is no Walhalla?"

"Not as you know it," said the man. "But there is a comparable place—or, rather, state of being."

Nux said nothing, simply listening to the man with wide eyes and gritted teeth.

"I would suggest," said the man, gesturing to what seemed to be Nux's bloodbag's car, which had not been there—or so Nux thought—a moment before, "that you try to drive and find it."

Nux took a step toward the car. "What will I find…" He turned back to speak to the tall man whose face he could not quite remember, but the man was gone, vanished into the desert. There was nothing left in the wasteland but him and the car.

Nux stepped toward it again, and placed his hand on the hood. It was warm and smooth, and he savored the feeling of the metal against his skin. This was something that he was used to—working with a machine, a powerful machine that let him be free when he drove.

He moved over to the driver's door, and his fingers brushed over the car handle. He had driven, in life, in order to serve the Immortan, to achieve his favor so that he could ride in the halls of Walhalla. And now? Now he was dead, as far as he could tell, and he was going to drive.

He opened the door and slid inside. The car was not stifling—in fact, the air inside of it was more refreshing than the air outside of it. He closed the door behind him, and placed his hands on the wheel. He reached for the ignition and started the engine. He felt the rattle beneath him, through all of his body. His fingers readjusted around the steering wheel, and he took in a deep breath. He looked out into the desert, and saw nothing more than the sands. He exhaled.

He was going to drive, and this time, he was going to drive—perhaps for the first time—for him. And it felt good.

A/N: This was a story I wanted to write, to explore a little bit more of the mythology of Walhalla, and what Nux would have expected after death, especially after leaving the Citadel.

I'd be happy for any feedback, and thank you so much for reading!