Chapter 5

Dom didn't move from the floor until the blood from Brian had done like the angel and vanished. Even though his hands were clean then, he still felt like the sticky red substance was coating him and he rubbed his hands together to try and rid himself of the sensation.

What had Brian done? What the hell had he done?!

Standing, Dom rushed from the room, eager to leave it behind. He didn't go searching for Brian this time. Something told him he wouldn't find anyone, not even if he called out a million times. Out in the middle of the track, Dom found the nicest looking spot in the grass and dropped down on it. All he could do was wait.

Something was happening to Dom, something cold and painful, and Brian had saved him back there… but at what cost? What if Brian never came back? He'd lost a lot of blood. He'd lost a lot in the meeting room too and he'd come back from that. But maybe he'd lost too much this time.

'You're not dead yet.'

Brian had said it so forcefully, like he needed Dom to believe it as much as he evidently did. And what was all the shit about not being able to let Dom die? Even if Dom was still alive, which he wasn't, what did it matter to Brian if Dom survived? Brian was dead. He'd been dead for decades. Well hadn't he?

The gunshot wound. Dom frowned harshly up at the bright sky and its lack of a discernible sun. That was how Brian had died, wasn't it? Brian was reliving his death in that meeting room. But why? And what had he done to Dom to open up that wound again?

"Ma," Dom said, testing the word. Clearly, Dominic Toretto was not Brian Spilner's mother, but still Brian had said it. At some point, he must have slipped into his memories too far and forgotten where he was.

Brian was killed with multiple gunshots to the chest. There was no way that amount of blood came out of just one hole. The thought made Dom sick to his stomach. He wanted to find the bastard who shot Brian and shoot them in the chest to see how they liked it… except Brian died in the fifties. What good would it do?

Of course, he'd need Brian to confirm the details. Dom didn't understand this world or its rules. And he needed to know a few things before he could go about plotting revenge for anything. For one thing, if Brian died in the fifties, why was he still dying now? Was it an effect of death? You have to keep reliving the way you died over and over again?

That didn't sound like a good idea at all.

Dom looked over at the stands, at their father's office up high, at the garage. He remembered how much they all loved this place before the incident. Mia loved it. Dom loved it. Their parents, Letty, Letty's parents, everyone loved this track. And Mia had been here after she died, just like Dom.

'She just wants you to forgive yourself and be happy.'

Brian met Mia… or he was just really good at guessing her personality. Because even without Brian telling him that, Dom knew it was true. He'd known it since the day of the accident, but he couldn't just pass the blame onto someone else. He couldn't just let go. Not then. But here, in their father's track, hearing someone confirm what he already knew… Dom thought maybe he could believe it now.

"Mia," Dom said, sitting up and setting his hands in his lap. "I'm closer to you now. Closer than I've been in a year. If there's any way you can hear me, I just wanted to let you know that I love you. I know… if you could hear me at all this year, you know that, and you know how sorry I am and you've heard me cry. But I'm not here to cry today, Mia." He pressed his lips together. "And I thought I was here to join you, but I can't do that yet. I gotta stay here for a bit, okay? Cause Brian needs some help, and I'm all he's got. So I'm sorry, but you have to wait a bit longer."

A warm breeze blew across the stadium, and only once it had passed did Dom recognize it as the first movement of air in his entire stay. He smiled at the sky, taking the sign for what it was, and pushed himself to his feet.

Mia would forgive him for delaying their reunion.

Dom wasn't sure how much time had passed with him lying in the grass, but the sky never darkened so time itself seemed superfluous here. Enough time, he thought, had passed for Brian to regain his strength… at least if it was anything like the first time. So now it was time to search for him again.

"Brian?" he called out, hands over his mouth, and he turned toward the garage. The Charger still sat out front, the Skyline inside. Neither car belonged on a track… not a real one anyway.

No dice. Brian wasn't in there as far as Dom could tell. A tingle on his back, that felt a little bit like remnant wind but didn't act like wind should or could, made him turn around and face the stands near his father's office.

From his distance, anyone would have been a random face in the crowd at best. Luckily for Dom, there was no crowd, which meant the only person who could possibly be sitting in the top row was Brian. Calmly, casually, Dom made his way to the stands and up each row until he came to the end of the top one. Brian didn't look at him. His eyes were out on the track, as though he were watching horses graze on the patch of grass there.

First, Dom let himself take in Brian's well kept state. He wasn't bleeding anymore and his clothes were clean. He looked rested and calm, no hint of the desperate ache on his face from before. But Brian was quiet, and Dom suspected that was because of him. Brian was waiting for Dom to bring it up, to demand answers. He was letting Dom determine the direction of conversation, and that made Dom want to not betray that kind of trust.

"So," he started, closing the last of the distance between them. Still Brian said nothing, and Dom sat down beside him. "You died in the fifties, right?"

"I did," Brian agreed, the first sign of confusion showing in his forehead.

"Then how do you own a Skyline?" Dom asked. He motioned toward the garage. "Those weren't in the states in the fifties."

Laughing slightly, Brian shook his head. "No. I drove an old Aston Martin model. I built it mostly from scratch after I lifted the totalled frame and body from a junk yard. Wasn't the prettiest car in New England, but it ran well. Ran fast too, if I needed it to."

Leaning back in his chair, Dom shrugged. "So how'd you get the Skyline?"

"I'm dead, Dom. I'm not limited by time. It's hard to explain, but I've seen pieces of the world since my death, and I've toyed with cars throughout the years. I had a Supra back in the eighties. Kept that thing as my go-to car to conjure for years until I finally saw the Skyline." Now Brian was smiling, something relaxed and happy, and Dom almost smiled too. He understood this interest in cars and the sort of reverie that could come with a favorite model.

"Another thing," Dom said, not letting himself concentrate on the peace on Brian's face. "You don't sound like you're from the fifties either."

With a tiny snort, Brian asked, "Do you want me to go back to using that lingo?"

"Just saying you don't sound like your own supposed origin story. How do I know you really lived and died in the fifties and that you're not just some buster who happens to be currently dying right now, in the twenty-first century?"

The peace left Brian's face as easily as it had come, and then he was frowning hard. For a moment, he wrestled with his thoughts, his eyes lingering over the announcement box and stands, and Dom wondered if he'd somehow hit a nerve.

Finally, Brian took a deep breath. "I told you I remember two of my mom's lovers most, right?"

"Right. Joey the alcoholic, who taught you to fight." Dom sat up then, eager to hear the continuation of this story. Brian turned to face him as much as he could in the seat.

"Right. So the other shuck was Rocky. Rocky was sort of low level mafia, alright? Not the don by any means, but he had a small bit of turf to himself. Ma liked him because he had connections. He could 'protect us' or somethin. Now see, Rocky and my ma, they use to play back seat bingo, see? One day I come upon them, right? And my ma, she doesn't seem like it was particularly razzin' her berries, you see what I'm sayin?" Brian paused there for a heartbeat, eyes slightly teasing, but then his whole face grew serious. "So at first I thought, man I should cut out, but the more I saw the more I got frosted. So I ripped the shuck from the car and told him to get bent. Threw a couple fists and then he challenged me to see who could burn rubber hotter. See cause he was a greaser and he knew I was flitty, so he thought he had an easy win."

"Riiight," Dom said, eyebrows knit as he tried to keep the story straight in his head. Maybe it was a bad idea to call out the lingo issue. So Brian hated Rocky and they got into a fight and then Rocky challenged Brian to a race. But what was flitty?

A playful smile flickered across Brian's features for a brief moment. "See, Big Daddy had a hopped up bent eight in his corner and I just had this old flip top. But what he didn't know though was I'd souped up my rocket. So when it was time to haul, I creamed him. He ended up jacked up and I won. Well he got on the horn and called the heat, which was most un-hip, so I split fast. Come to find Ma all done up pretty in the hospital. Recognized his handiwork real fast. Apparently he blamed her for my fists and my machine. Well that burned me up so bad. As soon as Ma was able to leave the hospital, I drove to see Rocky. Told Ma to stay in the car."

Some of the color had drained from Brian's face by then and Dom hoped it was just his imagination. He put a hand on Brian's shoulder to steady the way the other was starting to shake. Brian seemed to appreciate it, putting a hand over Dom's. That's what told Dom the memories Brian was recalling were the cause of his shaking and not some resurgence of blood loss. Dom could understand – he'd never seen his parents in the hospital, but if his mother had gotten beaten up because of him, he'd probably be shaking just thinking about it too.

"I was real gone at this point. Got right up in his face to rattle his cage. But I made a goof. Didn't know he was packin' Roscoe. Didn't think about it. Just told him to lay off my Ma, like forever. Well Rocky, he didn't like being told what to do, see? So he pulled old Roscoe out and decided I'd meddled enough. He let off some Chicago lightning, pardon the rusty lingo. Then he skipped the scene and left me to bleed. Ma found me ten minutes later, but it was too late." Another deep breath. And another. "Enough lingo for you?" he asked.

"Maybe a bit much," Dom admitted. Shot to death by the mob… or the one small part of it Brian had an encounter with. Rocky sounded like a loose cannon with control issues.

Brian smiled then, something like relief in the middle but anxiety on the edges. He bowed his head a moment and then returned to stare into Dom's eyes.

"My mom's boyfriend shot me four times," he said. "And I had only two regrets. One, that I didn't take the bastard down with me. And two, that my mom saw me die. I told you she got better… but only after she got numb. I couldn't do anything for her, but I woke up in a place like this. I mean, it wasn't a race track, but it was something of mine. And I was filled with those regrets. And those regrets come for me from time to time… and today is just a bad time."

Brian's fingers tightened reflexively around Dom's hand. He pressed his lips hard together and glared down at the armrest between them, as though it was the bastard who'd shot him.

"And I lied to you. I lie to everyone I meet here," he said. "Because I'm not an angel. Not really. My regrets weigh me down, and I made a deal. I was worried about my mom. I wanted to see her again. So I agreed to be the first line of defense. I greet people when they die… and some of them I can convince to live again, but most of them are too far gone."

"And me?" Dom asked, his chest tight with anticipation, although he was certain he knew the answer.

Brian lifted his eyes from the armrest and Dom felt like he was being pulled in to those blue blue eyes. "I already told you before," he said. "You're not dead yet, Dom."

But the railing and the bay. Dom shook his head and leaned back from Brian, but Brian kept hold of his hand. No, Dom had driven his car off the bridge and into the bay. He died on impact, or from drowning, or both. But he was dead.

He knit his brow and stared at where Brian's hand held firm to his, where he could almost see his own fingers through Brian's. The cold. The lack of oxygen. Wasn't that what kept hitting him? Was that the bay? But he'd been here for hours. There was no way he was still breathing.

"No," Dom said and shook his head. "I'm dead. I wanted to die."

"But why?" Brian asked, and his grip on Dom's hand was almost painful. "Tell me why, Dom."

Dom wrenched his hand from Brian's fingers and turned to face the track. Why. He'd been avoiding telling Brian since the beginning. Assuming he'd been dead and would never have to face the world again, he'd let himself tell Brian about Mia and about Letty. But if he wasn't dead then…

"My father… There was a bad wreck at the track in January one year," Dom said, surprised by how easy he found the words. "Two people died, burned alive. My parents held a press conference to address the tragedy two days after. On live television, the son of one of the dead drivers opened fire on the room. He killed eight people – my father, my mother, Letty's old man, and the rest of the track's board of directors – before security surrounded him, and then he turned the gun on himself."

Pressing his hands together, Dom remembered being at home, prepping dinner for when his parents got home, and watching the conference. He remembered the first gunshot, the one that went through his father, before the cameras had scrambled to turn away and run. But the stations hadn't been quick enough in turning off the video, and Dom could still hear the screaming and the following seven shots. The only shot he didn't hear was the one that the son had used on himself. The cameras had finally been switched off before then. Part of Dom always wished he could have heard it.

"My parents… My father was my hero, and he died. And I couldn't even get revenge for him. And then the family of the other driver sued us, and I didn't have the money. No one wanted to buy the track, not even the bank, and I was barely out of high school. I didn't have any equity… didn't even really know what equity was. So the bank took the house to pay the settlement and court fees." Dom paused to shake off the tension in his mind, but it didn't budge.

"And you lived out of your car," Brian said, urging the story on. His hand rose up as though to hold Dom's shoulder as Dom had done for him, but he hesitated and then pulled back.

"We lived in the fucking Charger. Mia, two months from graduation, didn't have a home anymore. And it was my fault. I'd never considered saving money before, and it came back to bite me in the ass." Dom rubbed at his left eye even though there were no tears to be had. "If I'd had a better job, maybe we wouldn't have been living in a car. And Mia kept telling me it was fine, that she'd always wanted to know what it would be like to live out of a car, but it was just to make me feel better. And I let her lie to me. But I failed her, and we both knew it, even if she wouldn't admit it. I was supposed to be the head of the family then and I failed."

"But Mia got into college," Brian pointed out, shifting in his seat to be closer to Dom.

"Mia lost all her friends, and I was working all the time so she lost me too. She wrote entrance essays in the backseat of my car and submitted applications at the library and had to get a job to pay the application fees, because all my money was going into the damn track that I couldn't get rid of." Dom took a shaking breath. "Then Mia got the news – college, full ride. And someone finally wanted the track. Everything was looking up, and then I went and screwed that up too."

He remembered the joy of the morning when he finally logged into his bank account and saw all the money sitting there. The payment for the track had gone through. They finally had money. And they could probably buy a house with it. An hour later, Mia opened the email with the good news. And then eight hours after that, everything had been ripped from him again in a rolling car and a deep ditch.

"I had no pillars left to stand on," he said, voice tighter than he wanted. "I just wanted to tell Mia how sorry I was, and I kept thinking about the guy who started it all, who shot my parents and took his own life. And I wondered if he got to see his father after he died, and then if I would get to see Mia and our parents if I died." His gut was tight and his eyes were hot, but he'd thought these things so often that no tears came out. "I just wanted all of them back so much, and I was still living in the car, seeing Mia in all the things she left behind. I felt like I'd been ripped from the lives of everyone I knew, and I'd been trying to fight my way back for half a decade… and I was just so tired."

The night he drove off the bridge, he'd been unable to sleep, stuck staring at one of Mia's hairbrushes. Something so small and stupid. And then he'd been driving, hating the rumble of the rebuilt engine, the click of the refurbished clutch, and hating himself for taking the time and money to even fix the damn car when it wouldn't bring Mia back.

"Dom," Brian said, catching him in his free falling thoughts. "You don't have to be alone anymore. I promise… Letty's waiting for you. Jesse, you remember Jesse, is setting up a race somewhere and wondering where you are. On Sunday, that guy Vince is serving dinner and missing the barbecues and wishing you'd start them up again, because he has a kid now and he misses that sense of community."

"Vince has a kid?" Dom asked, surprised.

Brian's grin was infectious. "Yeah. Yeah he does. And he wants you to meet him."

Dom's grin became slack when he noticed the sun glinting off the announcer's box. It lessened his grin because the box was behind Brian, and yet he could see the sun there… through Brian. Brian didn't seem to notice or care.

"Bri," Dom murmured, reaching out to touch Brian's neck where he could see the seats behind him. "Brian, why are you see-through?"

With a careless shrug, Brian batted away Dom's worrying hand. "You know… I'm not really sure. I told you, I couldn't let you die. In the Sunday room, remember? I almost lost you, but I brought you back." His tone was almost happy, like he was discussing adopting a puppy or something else equally ridiculous to be talking about in that moment. "I've never done that kind of thing before, so I'm not sure what happens now."

"Well stop it," Dom ordered. "It's freaking me out."

That brought a laugh out of Brian, and consequently another smile out of Dom. Then Brian was standing and motioning for Dom to follow suit. "Come with me," he said.

They walked down the stands in silence, Dom increasingly concerned with the transparency of his angel. He felt better, he supposed, now that he'd told Brian everything, now that he'd thought about all that had happened to him. It didn't fix anything, but somehow telling Brian helped more than telling any shrink ever had… and maybe that was because Brian was a friend. He wasn't being paid to listen.

A friend who was losing corporeal form. Dom pressed his lips together tightly.

"Brian," he started as they walked along the asphalt of the track.

"Dom, do me a favor?" Brian asked and turned to walk backwards. The blonde came to a stop by the Charger's passenger door. "I actually planned to race you at some point, but I'm not feeling very good. Drive me around the track."

It was a statement more than a request, but Dom nodded in response anyway. "Sure you don't need to lie down or something?" he asked, getting in the car. Again he was struck by how little he knew of the afterlife's rules. Would resting help someone who was already dead?

"I want to drive," Brian answered, slipping into the car and shutting the door. "And if I can't drive, I want you to drive."

Dom fished the key from his pocket and put it in the ignition. The Charger's engine roared into life and Brian actually pet the dashboard in response, a silly little grin on his stupidly handsome face. The wheel turned smoothly, easing the car into the curve of the track and then they started slowly driving the oval. Half way around, Brian chuckled and shook his head.

"Come on, Dom. You're driving like we're going grocery shopping," he said. "We're racing. I thought you could drive faster."

Something familiar grew in Dom's chest – the excitement of a challenge, and he smirked as he hit the clutch and rounded the corner of the track. The straightaway stretched out before him, and he took in the sight hungrily.

"You want fast?" he asked. "I'll show you fast." And he floored the gas pedal. The car burst forward, eating up the track, and in the passenger seat Brian whooped and hollered.

Faster, faster, faster. They continued to gain speed, almost as though they were truly racing some other phantom cars, and Brian cheered the whole way. On the second lap, Dom took the turn too fast on purpose and the tail end of the Charger scraped the wall. They jerked back and forth as they regained balance and then Dom was doing it again on the next turn.

It felt like stress relief. The car wasn't real and neither was the wall, and any damage to either wouldn't matter. It was a sense of freedom and it filled Dom with a recklessness he would never practice in real life. Never… And yet he'd run off the road.

"Dom," Brian started on lap three. "Do you regret it?"

Foot off the gas, the car sped on momentum alone, and then Dom mentally shook himself and pressed down again.

"That's a stupid question," Dom said and shifted gears. Brian turned calmly to look over at him, completely unfazed by their speed. "Most jumpers realize halfway down that they don't want to die."

"Do you want to die?" Brian asked, leaning back in his seat but not taking his eyes off Dom.

"I can't say I want to live the life I had," Dom admitted, taking the next curve smoothly, no grinding on the wall. "But… Vince always said he hated Sundays and being forced to come to those barbecues. Yet you say he misses them, and he's got a damn kid now. And Letty, I keep thinkin about her sitting on her front porch, staring at the old house, waiting for the Charger to pull up." The Charger slowed slightly. "What did I run away from, Bri?"

"You didn't know, Dom. Nothin to be ashamed of there."

"That don't make it okay," Dom pointed out.

With a slight laugh, Brian said, "No. But what matters is what you do with the information now."

Dom had things he planned to say, questions about consequences and how things worked, but when he turned his head to glance at his passenger, he lost all of it. Brian was there, in the seat, but he was also not there at all. He was like a faded photograph, blurring at the edges and sun bleached in the center.

"Brian?" Dom asked, concern coursing through him, and he took his foot off the gas.

"Keep driving," Brian said, and it was more of an order than anything Brian had ever said. Reflexively, Dom put his foot back down. "Just keep driving."

"And what about you, huh? What happens if I choose to go back? What happens to you?" Dom asked, glaring out at the track as he took another turn.

Shrugging, Brian turned his eyes to the track too. "I've been dead a long time," he said. "I think I gave up my contract when I saved you earlier, but you still had a chance at life. It was you or me. Had to make a call."

"Shitty call, Spilner," Dom grunted. His eyes glanced through the stands as though he'd find some old man sitting there, taking notes on Brian's performance - someone he could convince to let Brian live… in some way or another.

"Well someone had to make it," Brian said. At least he didn't sound apologetic. He didn't regret the decision.

Something clicked for Dom then, and he knit his forehead together in thought. "Do you still have regrets?" he asked.

Brian's eyes were on him again. "What do you mean?"

"Your mom. You watched her get better. Did you get to say goodbye? That bastard, Rocky. You wanted revenge. Do you still regret those two things?" Dom asked. He pressed his lips together tightly and wondered if regrets were how this world worked at all. Were regrets the real reason Brian was stuck there? Was he really disappearing because he'd let them go? And was it possible he'd let them go because Dom pressured him into talking as much as he'd pressured Dom?

"No," Brian said, a small bit of awe in his tone. "Guess I don't."

"And you helped a lot of people come to terms with their own regrets, right? Even if they didn't live afterward?" Despite not being in an actual race, Dom felt like he was running out of time.

"Yeah, I suppose so." Brian shifted in his seat, bringing one leg up on the chair with him. "What's your point?"

Shaking his head, Dom glanced away from the track and over to his passenger. "My point, Brian, is it sounds like you need a new contract. You've done enough, and you want to live, right? Why can I make that choice and not you? So make a deal with whoever it takes. Come back with me."

"Dom," Brian began, shaking his head, but Dom shook his too.

"No, Bri. You've helped people. You helped me. I'm not fixed, but I might be able to handle it better now. I don't want to leave knowing you're just gonna cease to exist." Dom took another turn and could see the marked out finish line ahead of him. The car skidded to a halt.

"You don't know what will happen to me. What if I'm finally going to rest?" Brian asked, and he did sound tired.

"Yeah? And what if you're not? Huh, Brian? What if you're not?" Dom turned completely in his seat to look at the angel. Because that's what he was – an angel. How could he just leave Brian here to fade away, to die? But was there even a way for him to live?

His body was buried somewhere sixty years ago. Four bullet holes in the chest. But Dom didn't want to think about that. He didn't want Brian to be dead. He didn't want him to die. He wanted to bring Brian home to meet Letty.

Home. The word caught him off guard in his own thoughts and he wondered if Letty would let that be true. Could he live with Letty? Or Dom had the money now from selling the track. Maybe he could buy the old house back, start up Sundays again. Maybe Letty could live with him instead. But it was home, and he missed it now more than ever.

For a long second, Brian said nothing, but then he grinned and relaxed into the seat. Part of Dom was sure the grin was in response to Dom's thoughts, but that was impossible… at least in life. "Everything'll work out in the end, Dom. It always does. So stop worrying about everything, about me or anyone else. Drive, Dom. Just drive, and I promise everything will be alright."

It sounded too much like what Brian had said to his mother as he bled out in her arms, the words he'd said in the Sunday room when he'd forgotten where he was. But that was who Brian was, wasn't it? He was the comforter. He made things better… or he at least tried to. He looked out for the feelings of those he cared about.

"Brian, I'm not going back without you," he began, facing the road again, but Brian cut off any further speech.

"Drive fast, Dom." Brian put a hand on the dashboard as though bracing himself. So there was no room for argument, huh? This was it? Then suddenly, Brian shouted. "Drive!"

Dom gripped the steering wheel tightly and floored the gas.

"Brian," he called over the roar of the engine. "Don't fool yourself, Buster. You're a god damn angel." When he looked over at Brian, not watching the finish line rush up at them, he saw the other's wide, curious eyes and he smirked in response. "I've seen your wings."

Brian's lips parted, the beginning of a response. But it was too late.

It felt like Dom crashed into a brick wall where the finish line should be. Everything went dark. Then the freezing cold swarmed in. It was around him, in him, and he felt his whole body convulsing with the need for warmth. And oxygen. He had no oxygen! But this time he couldn't bend over on the asphalt and gasp for air – there was no ground. There was no air.

Something hard and heavy slammed against his chest and he felt numb all over. It hit him again. Again. Again.

He spit up the water that had infected his lungs and then gasped for air, desperate for brain function and the return of his limbs, but even with oxygen, he found movement difficult at best. He wasn't in his car, though. That much he could tell. Instead, his back was on the hard packed earth of the manmade embankment.

Someone was over him, and more someones were coming up behind them. There was a flashing light in the distance.

"Thank God," the person over him exclaimed. They were all wet and so was Dom, and part of him recognized what that meant, but he couldn't focus on it.

"Bri-," Dom tried and then coughed harshly. The someones from the background were upon them, and their hands were all over Dom.

"Who's Bri?" the original person asked – it was a woman. She had a slight Spanish accent and beautiful skin, but with his mind scattered as it was, that was all Dom took notice of. "Was someone else in the car? Who? Who's Bri?"

Foggy from oxygen deprivation and from the chill still holding his body rigid, Dom didn't know what to say. Who was Bri? Had it all been a near-death dream? Or had it been real? And if it had been real, had he just lost his first friend in a decade? Had he lost Brian?

"Angel," Dom said in a breath, unable to find more air than needed for the one word. The woman looked startled and confused, but then the other persons were grabbing her too, dropping a blanket on her shoulders and urging her to her feet, and Dom barely registered that they were EMTs.

All he could think was that somehow, someway, he was alive. And Brian was not. Brian had lied. Everything was not okay.