Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were some general chores that needed doing, things Finn needed to pick up: food, fuel, gas canisters for the stove, the usual kind of thing. Once those errands were run, he stopped for a chat with the bartender, a stout but imposing man nicknamed Samoa Joe. Decent guy. Bit of a temper. He clearly didn't much care for Nakamura's antics. The head on the bar was the cherry on top of a considerable cake of bullshit. 

“See, people laugh it all up,” Joe was saying. “But they forget what a dangerous beast they're dealing with. That's a man who taught himself proper swordplay for the sheer drama. He's a nasty piece of work. I keep saying this. Nobody fucking listens.” He looked at Finn firmly. “You be careful. Friendly warning.”

“Noted,” Finn replied, and downed the rest of his beer. 

He passed the rest of the evening quietly enough. Booked a room for the night and fell into a proper bed. He slept relatively well, nightmares notwithstanding. Gun by his bed, mind you. Knife under his pillow. Overnight, he heard a few gunshots and some scattered smashing noises, but he ignored them and snoozed through. If it was important, he'd find out soon. If not, it could wait until morning.

He was thinking over his plans. This job would be over soon. After that, he'd find himself a couple small-scale contracts. Head out to the ruins of New York, perhaps. Keep on surviving, like he always did. Roll with the punches, whatever came at him. Beyond that, it was futile to plan too far ahead.

The world was too dangerous for daydreaming. The world was too fragile to let go of the day-to-day for even a moment. 

Light had started to filter through the windows, and he was lying flat in bed with only these thoughts for company. Eventually, he hauled himself up and began to pace, distrust mounting. This whole thing stank. He hated that he was personally intrigued. The smartest thing to do would be to get in the car and drive. Learn the lesson Rollins had been giving that kid; cut his losses and run. Why he didn't was beyond him. 

There was a knock at the door. “Hey, Finn?” 

“AJ?” Crossing the room, Finn opened it. AJ was stood just outside. “What's up?”

“Wondering when you'd emerge,” AJ replied. “Sleep well?”

“Ish,” Finn shrugged. “Heard the racket downstairs. You know what that was about?”

AJ grimaced. “Nothing new. Ambrose and Rollins had a disagreement over God knows what. Sami put a brick through the fruit machine. Strowman smashed a glass over his own head to prove how tough he is. The usual.”

“And Nakamura?” 

“Kept on playing that weird game, until some of the glass from the one Sami broke got on him, ruined his high score. Then he took offence and they had a fistfight outside. I say fistfight. You ever seen Shin scrap? Gotta watch for them legs, knees. There's a pro-tip.”

Finn nodded. Sound advice. “He's alright?” 

“‘Course,” AJ scoffed. “Tough as nails, when it comes down to it. Got a sweet black eye. Then again, so's Sami. Saw Kevin earlier and he said two of his buddy's ribs were busted. Haven't spoken to Shin. Think he's probably alright, though.”

“Can't keep some people down,” Finn remarked. He was thinking of Becky. There was someone who never said die. People like that would inherit the earth. 

He scoffed down a couple of cardboardy granola bars, protein-rich and full of raisins. Then he brushed his teeth and headed to the car, where he found Nakamura, doing his erratic stretch routine. AJ was right about the bruise; his face was purple and impressively swollen. Despite this, he was all smiles, wincing a little at the pain. 

“You should see the other guy,” he said cheerfully. 

Finn shook his head in disbelief. “You really are completely spare. Funny in the head.” But he was smiling too, as he got into the car. “Hop in. We're headed West.”

His erstwhile partner-in-crime nodded. “We find Rey, yeah?” 

“Yep,” Finn replied grimly. “Then you and me part ways.”

“Awwww. Breaking my heart.” Nakamura did that odd, toothy grin he sometimes did, a little too wide to be a smirk, but absolutely void of any sincerity or anything but deepest irony. It was a little bit sharkish, when you weren't used to it. 

Joe's warning ran through his mind. He'd bear it in mind for future reference. Now, he started the car and began to drive. 

“If you were on any other road but the one leading to the Trace Italian, I'd stick around,” Finn assured him. “But this? No way, ‘kay? It ain't personal. You're pretty cool, all things said. I just…you get me?”

“Thank you for saying I'm cool,” Nakamura replied, almost glowing with pride. He switched tracks so abruptly it almost gave Finn emotional whiplash. “You don't have to explain, Finn. You don't like the Trace. If you want to tell me, you can. If not, I don't take it personal. You're nice. To me, anyway. I'll be sad when you go, but that's your call. You gotta do what's best for you.”

“Nakamura-” Finn began, wanting to explain, hell, there was a lot to unpack there, a whole suitcase of feelings he'd been completely unprepared for. “I don't know what to say-” You should hate me. I did a lot of bad shit back in Japan. I must have killed people you knew. Why are you fine with any of this? He opened his mouth to ask him these questions, but was cut off by a simple statement. 

“Call me Shinsuke. Or Shin. Whatever. First name terms now, man.”

That took the wind out of Finn's sails. He had nothing left to say to that. “You're a fuckin’ loon, Shin,” he said, shaking his head. And Shinsuke threw back his head and laughed. 

The car ploughed on through the desert, leaving waves of sand in its wake. 

-

They'd been on the road for four hours without incident, just constant driving, when they hit a spot of radio. Someone was broadcasting. It wasn't the usual distress signal either, it wasn't on one of those channels. Instead, it was a music show. Old classics, corny power ballads, and some staticky, fading-in-and-out rock tunes. It had been so long since Finn had heard any music, that it felt like some kind of out-of-body experience. True to established form, Shinsuke sang along. 

“Really, man?” Finn was surprised, more than anything, that the other man knew the words to all these old hits so well. He'd kind of assumed, erroneously, that they would listen to more of their own music. He knew that they had a thriving scene back in the day. Used to bop along to some of the more hardcore stuff when it came on. 

“It's Queen,” Shinsuke replied, point-blank. “They're universal , man .”

Finn couldn't argue with that. He joined in. For a moment, the world seemed sane again. Just two guys, headbanging along on a regular cross-country roadtrip. While it lasted, life was good. 

A few miles on, they passed out of range. The radio crackled uselessly, like some kind of wounded animal. Its absence left an aching hole in Finn's chest. 

After that, they lapsed back into silence. They ate tinned beans that night when they stopped; Shinsuke looked on in horror as Finn made some toast for his, and started to eat. 

“And you say I'm the crazy,” he scoffed. 

Finn took a massive bite of toast, beans going everywhere. “Dunno what you're talking about. This is cuisine. Fine-dining.”

“ Finn- dining,” Shinsuke quipped, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

            “I hate you. So fucking much.”

“ You're just jealous.” He snickered, while Finn groaned. 

“You are nowhere near as funny as you think.”

“I am to me,” Shinsuke said, and there was really no arguing with that kind of logic. Finn couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned what kind of person he was driving. 

He took first watch. 

There was a long way to go yet.

-

The town, Pennyoak, was a tiny dot on an old, backdated map. It didn’t exist on newer versions. Newer maps, though, had markers of radioactivity, no-go zones. So Finn was cross-referencing, hunting down that tiny, almost imperceptible name, and transferring it over to the newer map. They were in an abandoned gas station, almost a quarter of the way to their destination. The pumps had been looted, along with the rest of the place, but Finn was certain he’d stocked up on enough petrol to keep them going. He hoped, anyway. 

The one thing this place did have was candy. A few leftover packets of gummies the looters hadn’t bothered with, looking instead for useful nutrients. Shinsuke gravitated toward them, going through packet after packet, while Finn plotted their route at the counter. It was pretty funny to watch, a guy in all leathers, with a fuckoff giant sword over his shoulders, biting down impatiently on a lollipop rather than waste time sucking it.

“Right, I think I’ve got this,” Finn called. “There’s no real hubs of people between here an’ there, so we should probably be alright. There’s a river, an’ a bridge marked on the map, but who knows if that exists anymore. If the river’s dried out, or if the bridge is good, we can drive it, but if not, we gotta figure something out that won’t take us totally off course. You hear me, man?”

Shinsuke didn’t reply. He crunched his way through another lollipop. 

“You’re driver,” he said eventually, through a mouthful of candy shards. “Your call.”

Something else Finn was learning was that his passenger was not opposed to flat-out ignoring anything he wasn’t directly involved in or enjoying. This was frustrating when you wanted to plan just about anything, because his contribution would consist mostly of nodding and pulling strange faces, which you had to gauge the meaning of because all of a sudden, he didn’t speak a word of English. So that was tiring. 

“Thanks for your help,” he muttered sarcastically. 

“No problem.” Shinsuke beamed, faux-innocent. Honestly, for all that Finn found the guy entertaining, he really wanted to run him the fuck over with his car sometimes. 

“Lazy bastard,” Finn muttered. He finished up the plans regardless of the lack of help. “We'll figure out about the river when we get to it. Even if we have to make a raft.” Shinsuke grunted, from behind one of the shelves. “You done stuffing your face yet? We gotta get moving. It ain't safe to hang around places like this too long.”

Silence. Bloody typical. He started to fold his maps up, when he heard footsteps. He tensed. 

Two sets. Definitely more than one person. Finn reached for his shotgun. 

“Awright, who's there?” He pumped the shotgun loudly. “Come on out.” 

Quiet, then a female voice called out; “We'll kill your friend. Put the gun down.”

“Easy, there,” Finn said gently. “We can figure something out.” 

“Gun, down,” the voice reiterated firmly. “We can see you.”

He looked up, into the camera, and cursed his own stupidity. He should have got them in and out quicker, soon as he had the map he needed, with Pennyoak on. He should have checked the place out. This was on him for not getting it sorted. 

“Who's we?” he asked, setting the gun down on the side. “Okay, done. What do you want?”

Hushed whispers. Handcuffs slid across the floor. “Put these on.”

By now, he had identified two voices. Both young women. One of them was slightly calmer than the other. This was the woman who'd made the initial threat. The second, who had spoken a little more, the most recent sets of instructions, sounded a little bit excited. At the very least, hyped up on adrenaline. 

“Movin’ a bit fast, don't you think ladies?” Finn laughed nervously. “I'd love to help you girls, but I'm gonna need to know you ain't bluffing me. My buddy, he alright?” 

“Sedated. Pretty heavy dose. He's fine.” The first voice said. 

A screen flickered on above Finn's head. He saw an unconscious Shinsuke, visibly breathing. His eyes were wide open, but rolled up. The veins on the side of his neck were an unhealthy blue. There was a knife being pressed into his throat. 

“Jesus. What's to say you haven't just poisoned him?”

“Who do you think we are?” the second voice called out. “Murderous lunatics? Put the handcuffs on already.” 

It seemed to Finn he had a clear choice. He made it right there and then. Took the handcuffs, put them on. Clicked them shut and showed them up to the camera. 

“There we go. You can come out now.”

There was this one, long moment of hesitation, then the screen flickered out. A woman with a tranq gun, and vivid purple hair stood there. She gave an apologetic smile, mouthed the word sorry, and pulled the trigger. All of this so quickly, Finn could do nothing, but fall to the floor clutching his neck. 

For fuck's sake.